Get Out Alive
by SpecialAgentZiva
Summary: "Wait, Tony, are you bringing in another agent or sending in Ziva?" Abby asked, her own gaze confused. "This is gonna be a dangerous mission, Abbs. I don't know if we should risk Ziva," he admitted. - Undercover Op. Possible TIVA later.
1. Doubts

**A/N: I'm horrible, I know. I should be working on Breaking Hearts and Fear, but this idea came so I'm going to go with it. I'll just have a lot more to update. And I mean a lot. :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story. It might be a little confusing, but all will be clear in the end.**

**I don't own anything.**

**By the way, if you can guess which person said what in the first five lines, you deserve a Probie snack. From the vending machine, not my desk. ;)**

"See ya, boss. Take care."

"Take care of yourself, Jethro."

"Goodbye Gibbs."

"Bye, Gibbs. Make sure to come back, okay?"

"Boss, are you really leaving Tony in charge? He's gonna kill us all. But, uh, bye."

Each individual member of the team stepped back after their own goodbye to the team leader. In most cases, it would simply be formality that bid him goodbye and farewell, as most people are known to despise their boss. Months without their boss, however, was almost unheard of and almost always unwelcome. They relied on him far more than they knew they should; they relied on each other more than they should. The glue that kept them together was too strong - if they were ever to lose a member, the destruction would be unimaginable. The anger, the grief, and the panic.

But they weren't losing Gibbs. At least, not forever.

Why he was leaving was painfully fresh in each of the field team's minds. They'd all seen the gunman, and though Tony had yelled, Ziva had nearly screamed, and McGee had stared, their efforts had been for nothing. They'd seen the bullet screaming through the air, and they'd seen it rip through the boss's shoulder. They'd all turned, revenge in their eyes, and raised their guns - but only Ziva had shot. Tony had been on the edge of shooting, and he may have pulled the trigger if his partner had not put herself in front of him (as not to allow any overkill, she'd said later).

Director Vance had given clear instructions after their silver-haired boss finally left the hospital after a surgery to remove the bullet. Gibbs was to take medical time off, and he wasn't allowed to poise any argument. However long he was gone would depend on the doctor, who'd been strict to say that any field work would strain the muscles and only cause more trouble.

There was no such thing as 'no fieldwork' for Gibbs. He was either there, or he wasn't.

It had been less than a week since the shot, and now he stood, putting on a bit of a smile for his co-workers and friends. Each had their own individual goodbye, meaning something entirely different than the other's, but nevertheless the same. McGee's had been a comical goodbye, but who else would he leave the team to? Ziva, though a capable field agent and killer, was the least experienced of them all. McGee, though highly trained and logical, was prone to crumbling under pressure.

Besides, Tony was his Senior Field Agent. He'd leave the job (if only temporarily) to no one else.

And so, he turned and left, waving a goodbye over his shoulder. Ducky tailed him (driving was out of the question for a man with his arm, once again, cradled in a sling), a smile on his face as he went on about the time he'd been to Florida as a young child and the disaster with himself and a penguin at the local zoo.

Tony turned to look at the team in front of him. Ziva's eyes met his unflinchingly, while McGee had already been looking back at his computer. Abby allowed her gaze to linger on the elevator.

"Okay. Gibbs is gone, so, as Senior Field Agent, I'm captain of the team. Any problems, straight to me. And don't make a repeat of what happened LAST TIME Gibbs was hurt," he declared, wiggling his eyebrows in the direction of Abby and Ziva (both of whom glared). "We're working on a case, don't forget. So let's try to concentrate, and all that."

"But, boss - uh, Tony -" McGee started, only to be cut off by Tony.

"I love it when you call me boss," Tony grinned devilishly at the younger agent.

"We don't really have anything to do until the Director gives us a go on the undercover op.," McGee pointed out. He grinned as he watched the smirk slide off Tony's face.

"Correction, McGee," Ziva interjected, staring at the two of them as if they were a pair of toddlers caught doing something they knew better than to do. "We may review the case file and attempt to build a stronger identity for whomever will be going undercover. We know that this person must be female. We know that this person must be skilled with a gun. We know that this person must have experience."

"Wait, Tony, are you bringing in another agent or sending in Ziva?" Abby asked, her own gaze confused.

"This is gonna be a dangerous mission, Abbs. I don't know if we should risk Ziva," he admitted. "But there isn't anyone I know more skilled with her weapons. It depends on Ziva. Are you up to it?"

"Of course," Ziva replied automatically, hiding her smile. She'd known from the start that Tony had planned on sending _her_ undercover, though he'd had some hesitation that she couldn't quite place at first. He had mentioned that it was dangerous. Could he be worried for her?

"Then it's settled," a voice came from behind them. They all turned to see the Director staring at them in his same would-be intimidating stare he always seemed to have, a stare that seemed only to be meant to remind them who was in charge. "The undercover mission will take a lot of work, Agent David. You will need to keep your head and your cover at all times. I hope you're prepared. DiNozzo, fill her in on the rest of the details."

Tony nodded, relieved when the Director began to walk away. He'd never been particularly fond of that man, not the way he'd been friends with Jenny. The man just always seemed to be missing the key point in befriending his agents, and he probably always would.

"Other… details?" half of the team asked at once.

He shrugged in reply, beckoning for Ziva to follow him. "Classified. Uh, need-to-know information pretty much."

As they departed for the conference room, he could have sworn that McGee had whispered, "I know what classified means."

"Okay, Ziva," he started as he sat down in the conference room, staring at her. She'd already taken her place, leaning gently against the wall. On the table in front of him lay a pair of fat folders.

He didn't want to send her in. Somethings crossed the line with him. Sending Ziva into an extremely dangerous operation that could so easily go wrong… he almost couldn't do it.

Too bad that he had to, if he valued his job.

"As you know, this is highly classified information. You will be resuming the identity of Petty Officer Justine Keach, who's, well, dead. We've found evidence on her computer that she's been scheduling a meeting with the head of the notorious Black Jade Company, Xavier Jade, aka Quicksilver. Don't ask about the codename, these guys just pick the weirdest things. I'd probably go with something like Bond or Assasin or whatever."

Ziva coughed, and he gave her an apologetic grin. "Anyway, this would be a network of known hitmen, arms dealers, and they are alleged to have a few terrorists in their bunch. Keach was supposed to be meeting with Quicksilver to discuss a job for herself once she got out of the marines. According to the emails, she was quite interested in becoming a trained killer. But really, you'd think these people would bother to encode their emails more."

"You're going to have to dress as a Petty Officer. Hope you like that. And you're going to need to keep your temper, Ziva. But I don't have to tell you that. There'll be surveillance in all corners of the apartment we've stationed you at. One of us might chance a visit - undercover as well, of course - occasionally, but otherwise, you're on your own unless we call. Standard equipment, of course. Cameras. Earpiece."

"Ducky's profiled Keach for us, as well as Quicksilver. You'll need to read the folders." Tony stood up and shuffled aside, pointing to the folder and allowing her to sit. "If you have any doubts, get out of their immediately."

"And one more thing. Uh, Quicksilver is known to be charming or whatever. If he tries any advances on you… We'll have to trust that you keep your head. Don't do anything you wouldn't do anywhere else."

She grinned at his comment. Anywhere else? What was he insinuating? That she never did anything with anyone?

He noticed her grin and began to chuckle himself.

Oh, yes, this would be an entertaining mission.

* * *

Ziva stood in the squadroom, shifting uncomfortably in the clothes that Petty Officer Keach would have worn on a regular day. She hated this part of undercover operations - wearing clothing she'd normally never touch with a ten-foot pool. Ziva David was a lot of things, but a marine she was not.

Her team stood in front of her, much the same as they had for the departure of Gibbs. Tension was high and they were all worried for her. The mission could go wrong in so many ways. What if she said the wrong things? What if she stopped Quicksilver's advances - if he did as he was know to? Would it blow the undercover operation?

She would be leaving in a few moments, in a car brought especially for her use. The apartment she was in had already been prepared (she'd seen it through the cameras when McGee had been testing the quality earlier). All seemed to be in order.

None of the other team members had said much more than "good luck," but Tony hadn't even spoken a goodbye to her. He'd only stood there, staring solemly.

Now, however, he moved, signalling that he wished to talk to her quietly. Confused, she moved to stand by the window with him. She became more confused at his quieted voice as he spoke. "Good luck… But Ziva, I meant what I said earlier. If you've got any doubts, get out of there. We don't want to lose you."

"And for God's sake, Ziva, get out of there alive."


	2. One False Move

**A/N: Chapter 2 for you already. Yeah, I know, I'm horrible. I get excited and write in bursts pretty much. But here you go, enjoy please.**

**I don't own anything. Except Xavier "Quicksilver" Jade I guess.**

Ugly, green patterned carpet covered part of the apartment she was standing in. It was accompanied by equally ugly, matching drapes that hung so loosely at the windows that they may as well fall off at any time. This was a total disgrace to her taste in living spaces. The only attractive thing that she could name in the room would be the small stretch of oak flooring that served as the hallway's floor. All together, it made an odd puzzle, really, and she couldn't be even more puzzled by the designer's ineptness. To put together the ugly apartment, they'd need a truly brilliant mind for sure - or the exact opposite, if their aim _wasn't_ to create a monstrosity.

But, unfortunately for her, she'd have to put up with the eyesore for the rest of the mission.

She'd been there less than ten minutes before all accompanying her left, most without a word. They were people she hadn't known - the agents she often saw working in the background but never particularly cared to talk to. And until the end (or until she died, but she didn't plan on doing that at all), this would be her home. Sort of. If she could get over the constant surveillance.

Instructions had been left for her. They were simple; meetings with Black Jade Company would begin today. She'd have little time to prepare and must look as best as she could like a Petty Officer, even though Quicksilver had never seen Keach. Her uniform was itchy and she disliked it far more than anything.

In her head, Ziva went over her story. She was in uniform because she'd just gotten back from work (_not because NCIS needed more time to compile a wardrobe_), she was quite excited at the possibilities (_not slightly nervous because it could go so wrong_), and Quicksilver could never be wrong (_even though she knew that he was a horrid man - at least one paper; a charismatic man with severe issues_). This should be relatively easy. She'd do what she needed to get through the mission.

But there was other things to consider. Quicksilver was supposed to be good with the women, and he was supposed to try and get close - _very_ close - to every one in his Company.

Drawing a deep breath, Ziva glanced at the clock ticking noisily on the wall. She'd have to leave soon (now?) if she wanted to make it to the meeting place in time. Time was oh-so-crucial. Being even minutes late could destroy the whole thing. But it could also help her cover, could it not?

A working petty officer had trouble getting away from her job to see Quicksilver. If she was ever late, perhaps he'd accept that excuse.

That was to worry later, she told herself. For now, she'd simply have to focus on getting there.

Her movements felt mechanic as she checked herself one more time, left the apartment (and locked it, though she couldn't imagine anyone wanting to break in), and got into the car. She steered it carefully through traffic - if she drove as she normally did, they may realize that she was no Petty Officer. And how could she explain if a cop pulled her over?

Ziva's knuckles were white from clutching the steering wheel when she pulled into an empty parking lot, staring around her. There was only one other car, its blue paint shining metallically in the half-light. Beside the car, was a man.

Undoubtedly Quicksilver, she decided as she stared at him. His form was hard to make out, but the guards sitting in the car (barely visible through tinted windows) weren't there for show.

They'd shoot if she made one false move, she knew. One false move and she'd be dead.

_"And for God's sake, Ziva, get out of there alive."_

Tony's words game back to her now and she forced a smile. "Don't worry, Tony, I will," she whispered, stepping carefully out of the car. The door slammed a little too loudly for her liking, echoing across the empty place. She was really alone now, no cover present in the parking lot. He had the upper hand. She smirked. Quicksilver was definitely not an idiot.

Her heart beat fast as she walked towards him, keeping her gaze on his face. Looking anywhere else would show fear, nervousness, or weakness. A young woman looking to become a hired assassin couldn't show any of that if she wanted to survive in the business. That, of all things, Ziva should know; she was already highly skilled and highly trained.

_How will I cover up my abilities with knives and guns? They don't teach this in the Navy._

The man's form was becoming more and more visible with each step closer, her eyes taking in every detail. She'd honestly expected an older man, perhaps with silver-streaked hair and a ragged appearance. But he seemed the opposite, and it surprised her.

On his face was the kind of smile she had seen Tony use so many times; one meant to impress the ladies, one that lit up the room. His teeth were impossibly white and sparkling. His skin was tanned and he'd obviously been working out for quite some time. Many of his impressive muscles could be seen from under the tight t-shirt he wore. And his jeans were anything but formal; loosely fit but held up by a shining brown belt nevertheless.

Impressive.

Now that she could see him, it was evident why so many women had apparently fallen head-over-heels for him. This man, was he reckless? The kind to go through many women and leave tracks for the police to follow?

He'd left something behind him, that was for sure. Keach. That was the only way they'd have tracked him - perhaps he really was a professional, looks and habits be damned.

Quicksilver kept her gaze, his stormy gray eyes taking in her details the same way that she was taking in his. He was measuring her up at the same time that he admired her looks. He'd never been fond of the whole Marine garb (quite ugly, on a girl, he'd decided a long time ago) but somehow she brought it all together.

Oh, yes, if he could take advantage of her, he would, without a second thought.

She stepped even closer to him, and could finally make out every feature. Unsure of what to do, Ziva simply waited for him to speak first, her eyes questioning him silently. Unlike Tony's eyes, however, his seemed ice and not willing to tell her anything.

"Justine," Quicksilver offered her his hand, which she took for a quick shake. "Welcome to the business. Though, most people change their names once they enter the Company. I think that would do good for you. Justine doesn't quite fit you. You don't look like a Justine."

He paused, before chuckling. "Besides, Justine isn't a scary name. Where would a girl like you get a name like that?"

"I believe my parents gave it to me?" Ziva suggested, attempting to give him the normal American-style humor. To her satisfaction, the man only grinned wider and laughed even more. The small talk was making her uneasy though. No business man would keep someone waiting, not an asset to his company, even if that company dealt death and he only lived to kill, it seemed.

"Good reason. Welcome to the Company, Black Venom. I trust that you will be satisfied with that as a so-called codename," he declared, style of speech ever-so-suddenly formal. Stunned, for a moment, Ziva didn't reply fast enough for his liking and he frowned. " Black Venom?"

Actually, she hated the nickname, but she knew better than to argue. Ziva forced a smile for him and nodded. "Yes, Quicksilver. It's adequate."

"Excellent, Blackie," he replied. There it was again - the change in his style of speech, so smoothly that she'd never have noticed it if she hadn't been trained to observe the way she had. "Now, you will be receiving training from myself and one of the other hitmen. The Marines probably already taught you to shoot, but we'll teach you better."

_There is no better than what I know,_ she thought, smirking inwardly.

"Yes sir," she replied.

"Good. Now, for your first lesson."

* * *

Tony paced in the squadroom anxiously, listening as best as he could to the words coming through broken feed from Ziva's earpiece. He didn't like the other man at all, and he could see him in his mind. Probably older with silver-streaked hair like Gibbs, only an extremely ugly version. Who was he kidding? By the way that Quicksilver sounded, he was the opposite.

Charming. Fine, let the man be charming. Ziva was smarter than to let herself get distracted in a mission, especially by the very man that was their target. She was supposed to get close to him (not _too_ close, or he might just kill her) as to take advantage of him last-moment. They would crumble the Company from the inside, and she would walk out a smiling agent. A good agent.

That was what she was, after all.

And yet, he was nervous about the whole affair. _His_ highly skilled agent could never walk out of there alive. She could be killed by the dangerous job she'd be performing. She may even say something wrong and Quicksilver might just kill her. He couldn't be sure.

And oh God, he wanted to be sure.

He wanted to be sure that she'd walk out alive. He wanted to be sure that he'd see her again, and feel her, and hear her, and even _smell_ her if it came to that. He wanted to be sure that she'd be okay afterwards, without any second thoughts about the mission.

He wanted to be sure about so much, but he couldn't be. Not when the mission was hanging in balance with every word that she said to Quicksilver, and he said to her.

Now he was definitely regretting sending her in there. Another agent would have done fine. He would have regretted it if another agent died, but he wouldn't have gone crazy.

And if Ziva _really_ died this time, he couldn't be sure what would happen to him.

To any of them.


	3. Standard Training

**A/N: Chapter 3 already. :) I'm planning to update at least once a day for you guys if I can, so I hope you enjoy this. You can probably already tell that this is gonna be longer than like 5 chapters. And yes, Tony/Ziva will actually interact in person later, but for now they are strictly communicating over her earpiece. Anyway, here you go. Enjoy.**

**I don't own anything.**

_"Now, for your first lesson."_

First lesson? Was he insane? Ziva stared as the man reached into his car and pulled out a rather large and dangerous-looking gun, a smile playing on his face. They were standing in a parking lot, for God's sake! What was he playing at?

Was it a test? Something she'd have to pass to get in, even though he'd already welcomed her and _named_ her, so to speak?

She had to stay calm, that she knew for sure. With a slight bit of difficulty, she forced the questions to the back of her mind and looked expectantly at Quicksilver, waiting for him to explain to her what would be happening. By the look of his gun, he'd either found out about her (_already? how?_), or this was standard for every hitman- or arms dealer-to-be. She'd played everything right so far - or so it seemed, as he hadn't opened fire yet. Perhaps this really was the first lesson, the first step to becoming what she pretty much already was.

Quicksilver was stunned by her lack of reply. Most people would have questions for him, but she seemed completely used to be given orders. Good, that would make the process much easier. He quickly regained his composure, however, holding the gun tight against his chest and keeping her gaze with one just as intense.

"Black Venom. The marines have taught you to shoot, have they not?" he asked, tapping his shoulder with the barrel of the gun he held so tightly in his hands.

"Yes, they have. It's standard training," Ziva pointed out, cringing inwardly at her own answer. For a skilled agent, she was having trouble remembering that Quicksilver would surely not take to her attitude as well as Gibbs always seemed to.

She would have apologized, but, after seeing the anger flare through Quicksilver's eyes (if only momentarily), she thought better of it. Besides, Gibbs's rules declared that apologies of _any _kind were a sign of weakness. And Ziva David wasn't weak.

"Is it?" he asked, his voice now impossibly cold. She'd dealt with men like him before, but the way his voice changed, his entire way of speaking - people like that had always been hard to read, and she hated it. Reading people was part of her training. Reading people would help her understand and exploit their weaknesses in the end.

"Yes, sir. It is," she replied, keeping her voice as level as she could. Any sign of coldness, and he may open fire.

If he opened fire, she'd surely die. Unarmed and vulnerable. And above all things, she wanted to do as Tony had instructed - to get out of the mission alive.

"Good. Then I expect you should be able to shoot. You must understand _now _that we do not operate in standard style, Black Venom. Your stance will be corrected to _my _liking and nothing else. You will learn to shoot in multiple positions and you must be able to complete them all. If not… we will unfortunately have to kill you," he spoke so calmly, with a hint of a wicked smile on his face.

His words brought back memories of the undercover operation she'd done with Tony. When the man trying to kill them - what was his name? - had simply told them, "_Nobody leaves this business._"

If he hadn't been speaking the truth when he'd said it, that phrase definitely applied to her current situation.

Realizing that she'd hesitated too long in reply, she forced a small smile on her face. "I won't disappoint you, Quicksilver."

"I should think not," he retorted, glaring. His intense gaze softened and he indicated to a smaller gun sitting on the hood of the car, urging her to take it. "I want to see you shoot. There's a target set up not too far from here - you can probably see it. Nobody will hear the shooting, not here."

Ziva nodded, taking the gun. She looked around quickly for the target, finding it leaning against the nearest wall, directly across from her. He wanted her to shoot.

She had to shoot marine-style, didn't she? No Mossad tactics, no "NCIS! Federal agent!" stance. She was supposed to shoot like she was shooting to kill in a war.

Unsure about shooting for the first time she could ever remember, Ziva slid her legs back into the position she liked, and aimed carefully with the gun. The bullseye was something she could have easily hit, but he might get suspicious of a perfect shot. It took years of extensive training and exposure to guns to be able to hit a perfect shot every time.

Cautiously, Ziva squeezed the barrel, and watched the bullet. It ripped through the shoulder of the target, causing her to bite back a gasp. The still-fresh memory of Gibbs getting shot came into her mind. Had the shooter felt like this, before she'd shot _him_?

"I expected your marksmanship to be better, Black Venom," Quicksilver spat, glaring. Obviously she'd done the wrong thing.

"I'm just a little out of practice, sir," she replied, attempting to keep the look of a well-trained, but nevertheless nervous, Petty Officer. This wasn't working out as well as she'd hoped. There was an intake of breath over the earpiece, as if those listening wanted to speak (and whom was listening, she wasn't sure, except for Tony - he'd never let her go into this alone).

"Okay. I believe you," he replied, another smile on his face. The way that this man's moods kept changing - it was no surprise that he was dangerous. It startled her as he moved closer and slid into what he considered the 'perfect' stance beside her, pointing his rather large gun at the target. To her relief, he didn't fire, only turned his head to indicate she must copy him.

Ziva took in his form carefully, knowing that pleasing him would be better than the opposite. She'd rather be in a strange-looking stance than lying dead on Ducky's autopsy table, killed by multiple gunshots.

Slowly, tentatively, she slid her left leg back behind her right, bracing herself in the same way that he seemed to be. She raised her arms until they were nearly straight, holding the gun tightly in her hands. Quicksilver nodded in approval and signalled for her to shoot.

A gunshot exploded, screeching through the air at a high velocity. The shooter was obviously well trained and very capable, looking only to accomplish their task, whatever it was.

But Ziva David hadn't shot yet.

* * *

He was still pacing, never stopping for more than a moment at a time. Those who'd come to talk to him had been rather confused by his apparent nervousness towards the mission, and his inability to stop moving. Each moment that Ziva was with that creep, that oh-so-dangerous arms dealer and known killer, scared him. He couldn't lose any of his agents - how would he explain it to Gibbs? _I'm sorry, but I let Ziva die?_ No, if Ziva died, he wasn't sure what he would do.

It would have meant that he'd failed. They'd failed. But she wouldn't have failed. He should be there to protect her, despite knowing that he couldn't be.

The words they spoke were still coming in broken, despite his many times of smacking McGee to "fix it!" The probie had said something about reception or buildings in the way, but that didn't matter. They needed to be able to hear, if not _see_, every movement that Ziva made while she was in the presence of such a danger.

Nothing seemed wrong so far, however. He'd heard Quicksilver giving Ziva the order to shoot, and then scolding her. But she'd obviously not been hurt. If she had, he would know, and he'd be there, not standing anxiously in NCIS headquarters, worrying for a woman he knew that was more than capable of caring for herself. _Without_ him.

Thoughts kept coming back to him nevertheless. Was she losing her nerve? Was she alright by herself? Would she pass the 'first lesson,' whatever that meant?

He had a feeling that her "_first lesson_" involved more than a gun and a bullet. There had to be more than that.

There _had_ to. No self-respecting man with the power that Quicksilver possessed would take his new recruits into a parking lot, give them a gun, order them to shoot, and call it their 'first lesson.' Ha, if he was in the position that the (_horrible, disgusting, dangerous-_) man was in, he'd be testing Ziva's physical state, and then proceed to handing her a gun.

Giving someone unknown to you a gun can be oh-so-dangerous. He'd expected Quicksilver to be smarter.

A loud sound wrenched him out of his thoughts, and he gasped loud enough that he was sure Ziva had heard it through her end of the earpiece. A bullet, exploding through the air - but he hadn't heard anyone give an order to shoot.

"Ziva, tell me you're okay," he whispered.

"Don't let that bullet be for _you_."


	4. Under Fire

**A/N: Okay, I had to. I had to write this and post it tonight, because this would have bugged me until I wrote it. I really want to start the next chapter (who am I kidding? I probably will tonight) because the idea is so fresh in my mind. Oh, but I have to warn you, no matter what happens in this chapter, neither the story nor the mission is actually over. ;) I don't plan just to end it all here, guys, so don't stop reading because of this chapter's ending! That would make me sad.**

**A special thanks to all of my reviewers and subscribers. I don't own anything.**

She could feel the gunshot in her bones, and she could see it and hear it. It was so real, so impossibly close. Ziva had expected a hail of bullets and intensive training, but she hadn't been prepared for a shot that came out of the blue. Quicksilver had obviously not shot at her…

Looking around for the bullet, she did the first thing that came to mind: she dove to the ground, ignoring the pain that came with her arms scraping concrete. A thump beside her signalled that her companion had hit the ground right after her, one of his arms flailing wildly and landing just beside her right shoulder. Her own hands propped herself up, only enough to allow her to get up faster if she so needed. After all, she'd rather die _running_ from a bullet instead of waiting for the shooter to take another shot that would no doubt strike its target.

It was funny, in an odd way, that someone as unpredictable and murderous as Quicksilver was supposed to be would be basically laying askew on the parking lot. He wasn't dead, she could tell, and it seemed that the shot had completely missed them both (what had it struck?) as neither he nor she bore any obvious gunshot wounds. Gunshot wounds _bled_, and neither was bleeding.

Good. Any wound would take her out of the mission and keep her out forever. Now, it would be convenient if somebody simply shot the mans she sought to take down, but it would be of no particular use because the Black Jade Company would surely have a second-in-command to take charge if anything occurred. Not to mention, she'd be out of the Company faster than she'd made it in.

And Ziva David had gone through a _lot _just to get to where she was, laying on the pavement, her eyes scanning her surroundings, never lingering for more than a few moments. She couldn't be sure how many moments passed. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that she was being carefully watched by her (completely useless) mentor-to-be.

Finally, Quicksilver carefully got up beside her, another smile playing on his face as he nodded, a show of thought meant for himself and those sitting in the car. Oh, yes, she would certainly do. Disciplined. Careful. And on top of that, she was _amazing._ A lot of the women in the business were beautiful (and many more awfully ugly), but none of them had ever made a Petty Officer's uniform look good.

Forcing himself to keep on the thought of work and training her rather than otherwise, he looked directly at her with the same intense gaze she'd seen when he'd been angry just minutes before. He spoke in the same professional tone that he'd been using on and off since they met, voice high and clear. "Very good, Black Venom. Only the best can be in this business, and you have proved yourself capable under stress. Or, in this case, under fire."

So perhaps he wasn't as stupid as he looked. There had been more to 'lesson one' than the simple instructions of how to shoot the way he'd wanted her to. He'd been waiting for reaction, perhaps even purposely lay on the ground in a ridiculous way to encourage her failure. At least she knew that she wouldn't be wasting her time chasing a total idiot who had only taken over the Company once Daddy-dearest died.

Ziva stayed on the ground until he reached a hand out for her to take, which she took without visible hesitation. His hands were firm, strong. She'd say he was admirable, if she hadn't known his history or his current occupation. It was no wonder that he had quite a reputation for charming the women both in his field of work and out. Would he try to get to _her_, of all the women?

Ha, it would be entertaining to see him try. She was far to smart for that. And yet, refusing him could destroy the mission… If it came down to it, she may have to play the same game she played with Tony nearly every day, if she could make him take the bait.

"I believe that this will work out quite well, Black Venom. I would say welcome to the family, but we aren't much of a family business. My own family has pretty much disowned me, but that's to be expected in our line of work, isn't it?" he mused, pulling her up far more gently than she'd expected. His eyes scanned her, pleased to see that she seemed alright from what most considered a frightening experience. Save for the scrapes on her arms, she looked to be completely unharmed and even those scrapes bore no blood.

Nodding, Ziva offered him another small smile. "Too true, Quicksilver. My family would cut me out of everything if they knew about this. I've cut most of my ties anyway, so there should be no problem."

"And your loyalty?" he asked, suddenly fierce at the mention of _her_ unknowing 'family.' "Where does it belong?"

"Only to you, and the Company, sir," she dropped her smile and spoke in a formal tone once more, attempting to keep the disdain out of her voice. Pledging her loyalty to him? She'd never do that if she wasn't on assignment. Her loyalty only truly belonged to NCIS, and her team. No one else.

"Good. I must warn you, double crossers will only end up one place in this business: dead. If you are not prepared to lend your whole loyalty, you should leave now or sign your own death certificate before we kill you." It astonished her how easily he spoke those words, quickly and calmly. He was speaking as if they were two business partners engaged in a conversation about the weather or something infinitely close.

"_Zi…a. Be.. careful… dan… erous,_" the broken words crackled over her earpiece, nearly causing her to jump in surprise. Tony hadn't spoken a word to her yet - except for the whispering she couldn't make out earlier. She hadn't expected him to speak now. Though, he was right. She'd have to be careful what she did next, or she would only be going one place, as Quicksilver had so nonchalantly explained.

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir," Ziva replied automatically, keeping in mind the words she alone had just heard. Nervousness flitted at the bottom of her stomach, reminding her just how perilous this mission could be.

She suppressed a shudder as he put his hand gently on her back, part of her hair caught under his large palm. The expression on his face changed just as rapidly as his way of speech seemed to, switching from a look of anger and demand to a flirting smile of approval. His hand began to move, ever-so-slightly, up and down, and she found it even harder not to move away from this touch. If not for her training, she probably would have stepped away in anger, confusion and surprise. Yet, she had gone through that training, and therefore knew to take each movement with a smile.

"Very good," he purred to her. "This will work out very well, Blackie. You'll be training with me, almost always. I hope you like that idea, because it sounds like a good one to me."

No, she didn't like the idea. Getting close to the head of the organization was one thing, but she knew exactly what he'd done. If she didn't know, perhaps she'd welcome the words and touch, but this wasn't right. She was meant to take down the head of an extremely dangerous group, at no matter what cost.

No matter what cost. It could cost her so much, but she wasn't sure she was willing to give it all up to destroy the Company.

"I expect to meet you here at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow night," Quicksilver instructed, still moving his hand. "You will be supplied your weapons. There will be another… uh, instructor, so to speak… with me. You will be trained by the best, I hope you realize that. And Black Venom… don't forget. I _always _know."

As he walked away, she stood frozen for a moment. Obviously it was a line to scare people into submission - he was no Gibbs. The car left quickly, tires screeching as it left the parking lot. Ziva turned towards her own car, parked not too far away. Slowly, as if to avoid any more 'tests,' she moved towards it. One step… two step… too many steps to count and she was standing outside, fumbling for the new keys in her pocket. Which ones were for the house door again? Which were for the damned car?

She started the car and left slower than the people before her had, taking care to drive somewhat like an American citizen on the chance that someone had the nerve to tail her. The radio stayed off - she might have turned it on if she wasn't so nervous. Ha! Nervous. Tony would _never_ believe that she was nervous. That was good for her - she wanted to be the indestructible warrior.

There was no noise in her earpiece now, and each attempt to check if anyone was listening was greeted by dead air. It figured. She'd just walked out of a meeting that could have spelled her death if _anything_ had gone wrong at anytime. Tony hadn't made himself clear at all before or since he spoke to her earlier. Well, at least she knew somebody had been listening at some time. That was comforting.

Her apartment, however, was not. She groaned at the sight of the disgusting carpet, her eyes glued _only_ to the floor even though she'd promised herself that, if she didn't look at it, it would be okay. But it was still there, in all of its ugly glory. At least the door was somewhat respectable, she thought as she locked it and checked the locks twice.

When she looked up, however, she stopped, startled.

In "her" living room, stood the shadow of a man. His gaze met hers, and he spoke.

"I want you out of this mission."


	5. Prove It

**A/N: Chapter 5. Ta-da. I had fun writing this one, so I hope you enjoy it. :) Thanks to all of my reviewers and subscribers.**

**FYI, I don't own anything.**

_"I want you out of this mission."_

"Out? What are you saying, Tony? **You** are the one who sent me in the first place!" Ziva growled, glaring at him despite herself. She knew all too well that he was concerned for her safety - and if not him, then Abby and the rest of the team.

"I realize that, Zee-vah," he replied, holding her gaze levelly. "It was a mistake. He's threatened you. We can't put you in danger."

"And why's that? I am quite capable of caring for myself!" she was getting angrier with each word he spoke, her face flaring hot. This wasn't right. She'd _just_ been sent into this mission, why in God's name would he want her out? The man had threatened her - that was to be expected, with any agent. She was the highly trained one, she was the capable woman. He obviously couldn't think of anyone better for the job - or perhaps that was his point. To anger her to the point that they'd have to take her off the case, and lay low for a while before sending in another agent.

"Damnit, he's dangerous. You just don't seem to understand. Your little yes sir's and wrong replies are going to get you killed! You just don't get it!" if she had been yelling at him a moment before, his voice matched hers in both tone and level, his eyes set in an equally angrily glare. Why didn't she understand? He wanted anything but her anger - he wanted her to walk out unscathed, and the way she was before she'd left. Perfect, flawless. He'd heard the gunshots, he'd heard the words. It wasn't right just to let her go where he knew she shouldn't.

"And do you not realize that we could be under surveillance? You just _breaking_ into my apartment at this time, that's suspicious! **I** won't blow the mission, but at this rate, _you_ will!" Ziva raised her voice another level, completely oblivious to the fact that their shouting match could probably be heard across the hallways. This was a cheap apartment; the walls were probably paper thin. If she didn't want a trip from the manager, then this was not the way to go about things. Nor did it discourage her new 'boss' to check up on her and hear every single word.

"Do you want to die _that_ badly? Fine, Agent David, stay on this damned mission, if it makes you happy," he growled at her, lowering his voice to a nearly inaudible whisper.

Had she not known better, she would have thought that he really _was_ concerned beyond his professional nature. But he was better than that, he knew that she could do this. Without him, without anyone else. She could do this.

She _had_ to do this. Why couldn't he just understand? This was her first big op. since before Somalia - she _wouldn't_ let herself fail.

"I don't have a deathwish," her voice dropped to the same level as his, however most of the edge had left her tone. It took all of her willpower, but she forced herself to drop her gaze from his. Now wasn't the time to be fighting. He shouldn't even be in the same room as her (that was far too dangerous to her and the mission) let alone yelling in the same building.

"Then prove it."

How could she _prove_ that she had no desire for death? Dropping out of the mission was out of the question entirely. Perhaps if she promised to him that she would be ever-so-careful, he'd let her continue. She had to follow his orders, anyone. No matter how much she cared to argue with his orders, if he was serious about her dropping out of the mission, she'd have to.

"_How_ do you expect me to do that, Tony? I do not see a way to prove anything to you. All I ask is to do this mission," she told him in disbelief, watching as multiple expressions crossed his face. "No… I understand now. You believe I am not capable of this!"

"I didn't say that, Ziva," Tony replied, moving towards her slowly. She didn't move away from him despite how close he stood to her when he stopped, willing her to look up at him. He gave a small smile for her when she did meet his eyes again, her stare having lost its intensity somewhere in the conversation.

Perhaps it was just seconds that passed, but it seemed like minutes before either of them moved or spoke again. They simply stood in the dimly lit living room, communicating through their locked eyes. Finally, Tony drew a breath and stepped back, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. To make sure that she was _real_.

"Are you sure you still want to do this mission?" he asked her carefully, though he already knew what the answer was and that it would probably not change. Even from the beginning he'd known that his visit was pointless, but he'd pushed that to the back of his conscious when he'd made up his mind to check on her anyway. Nobody had tried to stop him (not even McGee), and he'd been glad for that - Gibbs surely would have if the man had been working.

"Get out. Tony… just get out. You know the answer," there was the edge on her tone again. She backed away from him and turned, repeating for him the two final words of dismissal. "Get _out._"

She didn't have to look up to know that he'd left. The noise he made, though soft, signalled that he'd done just as she'd wanted to. Nevertheless she didn't move from where she stood, staring at a wall, until she heard the click of the door being pulled back into place. At least now she could be alone to process the day. To process what had just happened.

It had gone okay, yes, everything had happened as it was supposed to. She'd met Quicksilver and he'd taken her in, so to speak - now giving her access to the Company. His threats still echoed in her mind. She tried desperately to push them away, telling herself there was no need to worry. Just because Tony had obviously read too much into them didn't mean that she had to, as well.

Though she'd never admit it, he had gotten to her somehow. Maybe his purpose _had_ been to scare her and give her doubts about the mission so that she would be forced to abandon it. This was all so confusing! And if there was one thing she despised above all else, it was being _confused._

Damn him. He always seemed to do this to her. It just wasn't fair.

Sighing, Ziva moved turned on the ball of her foot to examine her living room. There was no sign that he'd even been there, or that he really existed in her undercover life at all. Perhaps it was better this way. If anyone checked her apartment, they'd find no evidence of anyone besides herself being there. Then again, she could always cover up his visit as proclaiming him a friend or lover if she absolutely had to.

The bedroom door was open, inviting her in for a less-than-satisfactory shower and eventual sleep, provided that she could get over her thoughts. With some hesitation, she made her way into the dusty, ugly bedroom, keeping her eyes _off_ of the bed she'd be forced to sleep in tonight for fear that it would be inhabited by some kind of huge parasite.

She turned the tap on her shower and stepped in, only barely remembering that she couldn't shower with clothes on a moment before. The water was welcome and refreshing, though the stream never seemed to stay the same and was causing her more annoyance than she'd wanted from this. Not long after she had entered the shower, the hot water spluttered and turned cold, causing her to curse angrily and leave it quite quickly.

It didn't take her long to find out where NCIS had 'strategically' placed her pyjamas, though she found them quite distasteful. Did no one at the agency take any pride in what they set up the undercover agents with? She would normally not be caught dead in the atrocity that was her pyjamas - bright pink floral top with its very own bleach stains, accompanied by barely matching blue and red floral bottoms.

Ugly, ugly.

Making up her mind to check the locks before sleeping, she made her way into the short hallway that led her directly into the kitchen that was no bigger. Puzzled by the lit lamp she'd obviously missed earlier, Ziva stopped there and examined each inch of the room carefully. Nothing seemed out of place, not really.

Except for one thing. Sitting pristinely on the tiny kitchen table was an envelope. It looked the same as any envelope - bright white, and sealed - except that it had her name shining on it. "ZIVA." Not her codename, but her name.

Curious, she picked it up and opened it slowly, taking her time in the case that it was some harmful substance. She knew at the back of her mind that it wasn't harmful - there'd only been one person in her apartment since she'd 'moved in,' and he'd never wish to harm her, would he?

There was nothing on the front of the card. Not a picture, not a word, just a blank, empty space of cardboard. Now more confused than ever, she opened the card and gasped.

_No… Not now. Damn it, DiNozzo, why do you do this to me?_

Ziva put the card down as if it were on fire and backed away, only casting fleeting glances at it.

This couldn't be happening. Not to _her._

**A/N: I bet you weren't expecting that. Well... maybe you were.**


	6. This Place Isn't Safe

**A/N: You're lucky you got this chapter today. My internet went on some crazy -hating spree and wouldn't load on the Mac side. Weird. But anyway, I have chapter 6 for you, as promised. By the way, I do like suggestions, guys. Do you want to see Abby's thoughts on the mission? McGee interacting with Ziva? A chapter from Quicksilver's point of view? I'd really love to know! c:**

**FYI, I own nothing. And another FYI, I will be unable to update this weekend or next. However, you can expect more than one chapter on Monday. Sorry, guys!**

Upon waking up, Ziva could honestly say that she'd barely slept the night before. The circles under her eyes attested to this. She'd been thinking too much - thinking about everything she knew and didn't know, the things that had been said the night before, and the card. Oh, God, the _card._ How he could have done that to her, she couldn't figure out, but he had, so he'd certainly meant each word inside the card. Maybe. Hopefully not. She couldn't take that, not now.

Normally, her routine would consist of a 5-mile run (minimum) about as soon as she could get out the door, followed by a relaxing shower. Petty Officer Keach's routine, however, couldn't have been more different, leaving Ziva to stand idly in the living room. To look like a suspect, one must act like one, even if it killed them.

If she couldn't do something she wanted to soon, _she_ wouldn't be the one who was going to be killed. She'd break down the door of NCIS herself just to get away from the boring routine she would be forced to take part in until the end of the stupid mission. As much as she loved undercover assignments, this one was starting to cause a lot of trouble.

_Tony._ She had to get him out of her mind, or she wouldn't be able to concentrate. At all.

With a small sigh, Ziva turned towards her last option: the television. At the very least it would provide her with a few hours of mindless entertainment, whether she was planning to watch cartoons or those infamous CSI shows (what fakes they were!). She sat down on the only seat in the living room, a rather old, red, palsy-patterned cough that only gave credit to the obvious color blindness of whoever put the room together. It was uncomfortable, but it would do.

The day passed quite smoothly without her doing much of anything. Her gaze was kept fixed on the television for most of the time she'd generally be at work. She'd do anything to pass the time until when she'd be meeting Quicksilver once again, for there would be no more contact with anyone until then. By watching the moving pictures, she effectively ignored the card Tony had left, and just as effectively blocked the words out of her mind.

In fact, she hadn't thought of it at all since the morning until she was preparing to leave, and cast a fleeting glance at the kitchen table. It was still there, staring back and mocking her the same way Tony himself did. No matter how she tried to ignore it now, she knew it would be imprinted on her mind for the rest of the night. Damn him. How did he expect her to concentrate now?

Ha! She'd show him. She could do this, no matter what happened. Fixing a triumphant smile on her face, Ziva exited the apartment quickly, only stopping to lock the door behind her. The drive to the parking lot took even less time than it had before, as most of the streets were clear at the time of night that she would be arriving. Confidence surged through her veins, the unsureness blocked out like the card had been. She _could_ do this, and she _would_ do this.

Carefully, she pulled the car into the parking lot and parked it haphazardly across three different parking spaces. Quicksilver's car was already there, parked much the same as hers, though she could have sworn that it looked different than the one she'd seen the day before. It puzzled her, but she brushed it off. Perhaps it was normal for insecure criminal masterminds to change their car daily. Perhaps it was even expected.

Quicksilver exited his car just as she did, the same smile present on his face that he'd had when she first met him. It only reminded her of Tony, an image she didn't need right now. Ziva fixed a smile on her own face, watching as the man raised his hand. Was it a signal to shoot? No, he simply waved at her. Nearly laughing at her own overly cautious attitude, she returned the wave to him. So far, so good. He seemed to be relatively in control of his moods.

"Hello," he called to her, the words echoing in the emptiness of the parking lot. "I trust that you had a good night's sleep last night and are ready for today. After all, falling asleep with a gun in your hand will only make you more vulnerable to being shot at. Then again, as you probably learned yesterday, it's hard not to get shot at in this business. At any time."

When he laughed, Ziva realized that he'd been making a joke, and forced what she hoped was a convincing chuckle. He sobered quickly, staring straight into her eyes with an intense gaze that could rival that of Gibbs.

"Blackie, I like your laugh," he commented, the smile transforming into one that she'd expect on a little kid. She was puzzled, but kept her smile for him anyway. Wasn't there a name for this kind of condition?

"Thanks," she replied, unsure of what he expected to hear in the first place. This was strange - _he_ was strange. Shouldn't they be discussing her next 'lesson,' rather than laughing about something that made no sense to her in particular? Getting shot at was surely a danger of the job, but how was it _funny?_

"Well," Quicksilver's tone switched from playful and childlike to the formal business tone she remembered from yesterday. "Enough of that. You're here for a reason, and that is for your next lesson. However, we have some… particularly interesting… obstructions. This place isn't safe to conduct our meeting right this moment, Black Venom. We've had word that cops have been around here, and, we can't have that, can we?"

Ziva stared at him for a moment. _What_ cops? Tony couldn't have been foolish enough to send people in to observe yet, could he? Or were people here for a different reason? She didn't know much of the area, after all. This could be a hotspot for drug deals or such.

"No, sir," she told him, though she inwardly cringed at the words. Tony's yelling at her the night before was still fresh in her mind, each of his angry words only bringing back the nervousness she'd fought to keep out. Why couldn't he just get _off_ her mind and leave her alone when she shouldn't be thinking of him? It wasn't fair. She didn't do this to him!

"What are we going to do instead?" Ziva asked tentatively, watching for any signs of aggression. If he attacked, she'd probably shoot without asking any questions. As much as NCIS wouldn't like that, perhaps they'd rather she was alive than him. Most likely, it would just be best if he'd refrain from shooting or striking out in her general direction, unless he had some strange death wish - an urge to end up on Ducky's autopsy table, perhaps.

"You'll find out," he told her, narrowing his eyes and gesturing to the car beside him. Surprisingly, she found that the back seats were empty when she looked - he hadn't brought so much guard with him this time. Was this meant to be a sign that he was more relaxed or something of the sort?

It wasn't until he opened the car door that she actually realized. Her eyes widened and she instinctively reached for the gun on her hip that wasn't there, barely stopping herself before she actually _looked_ like the cop she was. Quicksilver just let a smile play on his lips as he spoke.

"Get in the car. _Now._"

* * *

If anyone had actually bothered to ask him, they would have instantly found that Tony DiNozzo had been up nearly all night. Not that it wasn't evident from the way he spoke that day, nor the way he looked, but they'd all guessed he'd been doing something far different than he truly had. A very interpersonal activity just didn't fit his night. He'd spent too much time thinking, willing the anxious thoughts out of his mind, telling himself that Ziva would be okay. Telling himself that Ziva was Ziva, and she could handle anything that this man would throw at her.

Still, the anxious feeling never left him throughout the day, even when he was simply staring at a screen, noises of the television shows that Ziva had been watching coming through his earpiece, the footage itself displayed on the screen. She'd looked as tired as he, and he'd blamed himself for it. He'd kept her up all night, unless she was simply worrying about the mission. He'd known that yelling at her would have gotten nowhere - otherwise, he would have never have left her alone in her apartment.

Damn it, if he could only focus on _just_ the mission instead mainly her.

Part of the day, McGee had served as a ready distraction, but now he was as silent as Tony. Watching empty footage of Ziva's undercover apartment, staring at every detail. The ugly flooring, the horrid walls. Neither she nor any of her coworkers had taken a particular liking to this place.

Tony himself couldn't look at the footage. It would only go to show that he hadn't planned enough in advance to have put a camera in the parking lot. Then again, knowing Quicksilver's Company, the camera would have been shot in seconds. He smiled wryly. This mission was a screw up, it had been from the start, and it was going to be. Who were they kidding? One woman couldn't take down an entire Company of internationally wanted hired assassins and arms dealers by getting close to the leader!

"Shut up, DiNozzo, you're having doubts," he said to himself, before he realized that the words had been out loud.

A confused McGee turned to stare at Tony. "What…? Uh, Tony, you realize that you're talking to yourself… _out loud?_"

"Of course I knew McProbie," he shot back, smirking. As McGee opened his mouth to reply, Tony's smile dropped and his voice level shot down.

"Quiet. McGee… this isn't good."

**A/N: Dun dun dun dun...**

**What will happen to Ziva?**

**What was written on the card?**

**Just how far will Tony go to make sure Ziva walks out alive?**

**Find out... soon. Whenever it gets written. Until then, Semper Fi.**


	7. Vulnerability

**A/N: I'm horrible, I know. I promised you guys a chapter a day. Unfortunately, things have happened recently, and I've been too busy to update. All of the things good, but still. People get busy. I hope you don't hold it against me. And with that I present you Chapter 7 of Get Out Alive. Enjoy~**

**(I don't own NCIS. But I do own Xavier "Quicksilver" Jade)**

_"Get in the car. Now."_

For one of the first times in her life, Ziva David could honestly say that she panicked. It was all she could do not to resist. It was all she could do not to step back, not to hit him. After all, she could drop him now if she had any particular need to. But that… that would compromise her mission. And Tony would never let it go, if she even lived to see the faces of her companions again. Oh, yes, she was in one interesting position.

She could follow him into the car like a "good girl," taking his orders without any second thought and any idea of her own safety. She could drop him now and attempt to take down the Company through pure force, but that was unlikely. She could simply walk away and never look behind her, knowing that a round would surely pierce her heart. Seeing the options were entirely one sided, Ziva forced back the panic and look him in the eye as she gave a quick, "Yes, sir."

There was a look of satisfaction that flashed across his face for a moment, though he was still aggravated that she hadn't reacted right away. He'd expected this, of course - all new recruits seemed to be cautious around him. Nevertheless, it always brought frustration that he wouldn't shake until the person actually got in the car. His eyes were trained on her as she stepped daintily in (careful to keep his eyes where they _should_ be looking). As he stepped in behind her, the frustration began to ebb away. He flashed her a smile, which she quickly returned, albeit hesitantly.

"_Z…va. What… are… you… do…" _Tony's words came in broken over her earpiece, his voice disappearing completely once the car door shut loudly. A familiar feeling of worry rose. She pushed it down rather quickly, forcing another smile on her face. Once this mission was over, she'd be rather good at this, Ziva decided. Smiling when she really didn't want to.

It was all a charade, anyway. Everything she did. Pretending to be an NCIS agent for years when she was really Mossad. Pretending that Tony hadn't interested her a few years ago - pretending that he meant little to her now. Pretending to still be holding on to every bit of her training. And now… this. Pretending she was smiling, pretending she wasn't a trained killer already, pretending that she liked the man sitting far too close to her.

"Black Venom?" came his curious voice, and she was forced to pay attention once again. "You look rather worried. Is something wrong?"

Her emotions had shown on her face, even through the smile? She'd been told many times that her eyes gave away everything… but surely, surely a man she just met could hardly read her thoughts? _Damn him._ Damn him and Tony and the rest of the men that were slowly making her life miserable and hard, even if it was accidentally.

"Oh, no, sir," she replied, attempting as best as she could to clear any true emotion from her face. "I'm just a little nervous. I'm not used to… this sort of thing."

"But aren't you excited?" Quicksilver actually sounded a little _disappointed._ She didn't let herself puzzle over this part of his voice for long, deciding it best to figure out this mystery of a man later. Concentration, purely aimed on what was in front of her - that was what she needed. And if he could stop doing things like that -switching his voice, confusing her, reading her - she could probably achieve the concentration. Then again, men like him were never easy to throw off their game.

He waited patiently for her answer, though the hesitation before each time she spoke was aggravating. Surely she could just _relax_. He wasn't there to harm her (no, if he got his way, he had far different plans) nor was he there to force her into discomfort to the point that she passed out from anxiety. Then again, if _that_ happened, she'd be out of the Company faster than she got in. This time, however, she'd leave with a death certificate.

"Of course," Ziva replied, her voice now as smooth as silk. He grinned as she went on. "I'm excited. This is something I've never done before, sir. And I have you for a teacher. You're a professional, not an amateur; I'm confident that I'll get the best training… sir. So, ah, yes, I'm excited."

_A little lie, but it won't hurt him. Best he doesn't know about anything else anyway,_ she decided. _It's for the better._

Quicksilver's grin widened even more, if that was possible. He read far more into her words than she'd meant, deciding it would be as easy as he'd hoped to get close to her. Training? Yes, he'd train her, of course. It was nice to think of himself as a professional, to know that someone else did, but he'd always taken it as more than just words when such things were spoken by female counterparts. _Especially ones like her._

That probably explained why he wasn't thinking, why he didn't particularly care about her possible reaction. The man slowly leaned and pressed his lips to her cheek, feeling the warmth and smiling. A wave of panic hit her but she held her position, only turning her face once he had moved again. She put on a smile to mirror his, though the sick feeling persisted. She'd expected him to do something like that, yes, but… not so soon. Not so suddenly.

She'd wanted to be prepared. She'd wanted to know what to do, and she'd wanted to have Tony screaming in her ear because otherwise she might have been lost. Now… she didn't have that. Ziva just watched him, the place where his lips had touched searing. She could imagine that her face was probably bright red, if only partially. What to do? What to do?

Fortunately, she didn't have to make a decision. His eyes bright, he simply maintained his grin and said in a low voice, "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Then again, maybe I'm not sorry. You probably get this a lot anyway. Don't worry, it won't be normal in training sessions."

Ziva could see it just as he realized that she'd supposed to be training. The realization flashed across his face, followed by frustration, but he settled on a neutral face. "Ah, speaking of which. We should arrive at our destination shortly. If my driver can actually find his way there for once. It's often that he gets lost. I'd almost drive myself, but that would only mean vulnerability. And that I cannot afford, not in a business like this. Vulnerability means death."

"Knowing the other men on the streets, there's many bounties on my head," he told her in a strange tone that she'd almost consider cheerful. "Many junkies like to believe it's easy to take me out. The hitman think the same but, considering the amount I have at my disposal, most of them back off almost immediately. If they manage to walk away alive, anyway. Most of them don't. But nevertheless they put a bounty on my head."

A strange look passed over his face and he gave a cruel laugh.

"By now, there's probably one on yours, too."

* * *

McGee's voice instantly quieted behind Tony. He'd heard the words as well. This wasn't right, this wasn't good. This shouldn't be happening. They'd lose all connections to her, and even Abby couldn't get a signal to a blocked place. There'd be no hope of surveillance, no chance of protection if she needed it.

The stillness must have had an affect on the surrounding world, for things seemed to quiet just as instantaneously. Abby's footsteps were heard, but she didn't say a word upon seeing the two men. Her heart sank, and she knew. Something wasn't right with this mission. Something, somewhere, was going wrong, and they probably couldn't fix that something. Had Ziva died? Oh God, she hoped not.

She heard Tony begin to speak, and she could hear the panic in his voice. His eyes were wider than she'd seen before, and the fear was obvious. No matter how hard he tried to mask it, it would always be there. In his voice, in his orders.

"Ziva, what are you doing?" Tony asked. He heard nothing from her in reply, just as he'd expected. He hadn't expected to hear a car door slam and a sharp noise. They must have blocked the signal, he decided, though it did nothing for his worries. She was out there alone now. She was completely and utterly alone.

Did she know it? Did she still think that they could save her if anything went wrong? Did she believe that they were standing guard, ready to shoot when needed?

_Of course not. She's a trained agent. She doesn't need me, or any of us, really. She can handle herself. _Even those thoughts did nothing to calm him. He felt Abby's arms go around him in a hug, but said nothing. When had Abby joined them anyway? Had she seen - had she heard - the fear? The utter hopelessness?

"What's wrong, Tony?" Abby asked, her voice quiet. "Timmy? What happened to Ziva? Something's not right, is it? Oh my God… is she dead?"

_Dead._ The way she asked the question made him snap. Tony jumped away from Abby, glaring despite himself. Ziva wasn't dead. He wouldn't let Ziva be dead. There was so much she hadn't done yet, and they needed her. _He_ needed her. He needed her as an agent, as a partner, as a friend… and, the card. He'd never know if she actually read it or threw it in a fire.

_There's no fireplace in that apartment._ _She must of read it, and because she read it, she's taking this risk. So it's my fault. No… no, she knows what she's doing._

Finally, he let out a sigh. "Abs, she's not dead. But… I… don't know much right now. I really don't know."

None of them would know anything, anyway. Not in the end.

**A/N: Yup. I did that. Now you're gonna hate me. xD But it's okay. Because we all know you'll love me in the end.**


	8. A Gun And Two Bullets

**A/N: Yes. I'm trying to get back on the track of updating regularly, so you did get this. c: Thanks to all of you who reviewed and are dying of the suspense. This chapter is a bit special, and it will answer some of your questions, so... read carefully, my friends, or you will miss the most important part.**

**I don't own NCIS. Sorry. ;c**

For the most part, the rest of the car ride was silent. She'd been careful in avoiding his gaze as not to be trapped into finding some answer to his last statement. If anything, she'd rather be lost in her own thoughts, planning ahead, preparing for when they reached their destination. Things never seemed to work out in her favour, however, for they reached the so-called 'training grounds' quite quickly, and she was forced, once again, to return to the world around her.

The car came to a screeching halt, and Quicksilver cringed. They didn't need a loud sound, it would only alert others of their presence. Whether or not this was protected by the Company didn't matter; it was still simple enough to break through the lower levels of security. After all, he kept himself and his highest officers under the highest level of security - the training grounds had nothing in comparison, and never would. _His_ life was more important than a recruit's any day.

And so she stepped out, just as carefully as before, taking in everything around her. The walls, a would-be white color; the floor, gray with what looked to be blood stains here and there. Her eyes widened slightly, but she made no fear visible. She could do this. She had to. Do it or die - that seemed to be her entire operation so far.

Quicksilver stepped out behind her, his eyes scanning the room as well, though he saw none of the small details that she did. He was looking for the guards, and the one he'd selected to train her today. After all, there was far more for him to do than train the recruits. He'd observe for a while, yes - he'd made it mandatory that a higher officer observed the initial training sessions - but then he'd be gone, perhaps to his private room.

Spotting the man he'd been looking for, he left her to stand where she was. They spoke quietly, Quicksilver and the other man, as if their words were of some great conspiracy. She looked on with curiosity but did not attempt to intervene, deciding it best to wait for instruction. It was obvious that they were talking about her, by the way that the unknown man's eyes went from Quicksilver to her. Had they found out? Was this a trap to kill her? Or was this really training?

Not too soon after he'd approached the other man, she watched Quicksilver settle into a seat at the edge of the room. The driver of their transportation sped away, leaving her completely at the mercy of the two men. She stayed still as what she assumed was her instructor approached her, never taking her eyes off of him. Unlike Quicksilver, he was battleworn; she could see the scars on his face, and exposed parts of his body, quite well. Nevertheless, he was young, barely older than his superior. It only made her wonder what he'd been through to get the way he was.

"Hello," he greeted, and she could almost swear he growled at her. "Quicksilver informs me that you are the new recruit. You will be training here. Do you understand that, Black Venom?"

"Yes, sir!" she replied automatically. Ziva was trying to bring back the memories of her first time as a recruit, back when she was young and Mossad. The painful punishments, the yelling, the cruelty - and her father's orders not to go easy on her. She hoped that this wouldn't be the same, but perhaps it would be. No matter what happened, she'd need to remember the first time around anyway; what to say, what not to say. She wouldn't want to cross this man, or any of them. They were armed, and she was not.

"I see you've mastered 'sir' already," there was a ghost of a smile on his face when he spoke, his satisfaction with her obvious. "I am Arrow One, but you will call me sir unless told otherwise. Today is your second lesson, I've been told. You're lucky you survived your first, Black Venom. Now we'll see if you have what it takes to master the rest. Do you see the targets over at that wall?"

"Yes, sir," she replied once again, with less enthusiasm. More shooting? She'd had enough of getting shot at the first time!

"That is what we use on beginners. Quicksilver has informed me that you are not to be treated like a beginner. You are to start with the testing that every new recruit goes through after their fifth lesson. You will be provided with a gun and two bullets, that's it. You will be searched before we begin to make sure you are not armed. Are you armed, Black Venom?"

"No, sir, I'm not armed," Ziva replied honestly. As much as her weapons would serve her right now, she'd been told that giving her one would be useless. She'd been forced into a dangerous mission unarmed. And whatever it was that he meant by 'testing,' it sure didn't sound good. _I could shoot this man now… if I had a gun, damn it. No, that would blow the operation._

"Good," Arrow one nodded in satisfaction, and then turned, motioning her to follow him. She forced herself to, walking behind him in perfect rhythm. It was hard not to march like she was in the army, considering the way of speaking that this man had. He sounded to her like the Recruit Sergeants (or whatever they were) in the movies Tony had made her watch. Always yelling, and always using full words - are not, instead of aren't.

Ha, if Tony were here, he'd mock her about how she sounded just like that when she first came to NCIS. _Don't think about Tony. Don't think about Tony._

It seemed that he was purposely obstructing her view, because as they walked, she couldn't get a clear view around him and at the 'test' itself. Confusion and worry hit her as well as caution; she'd have to be careful, for sure. He made this sound as if it were life or death, as if one wrong move could kill her. She couldn't let herself die - she couldn't do that to them, it wouldn't be fair. _Stop thinking about the card. Stop thinking about Tony. I am Petty Officer Justine Keach, not Special Agent Ziva David._

He turned abruptly towards her, and she was forced to back up. Only when her back touched the wall did he stop, and her eyes widened in surprise. What was going on? As he nodded to two men standing guard, she realized. He _had_ said she'd get searched beforehand. Great. One of the men looked older, and one of them young. She tried to ignore them as she was searched for weapons, her face as emotionless as stone.

Ziva was glad they didn't strip search. Perhaps they trusted her enough already, perhaps not. Perhaps they knew that it would be obvious if she reached in the waistband of her pants for a knife (not that she was carrying one; she'd been telling the truth when she'd named herself unarmed) or a gun. The search finished quite quickly - much to her satisfaction and the obvious relief of the younger man - when the pair of guards stood up.

The younger one nodded to Arrow One, who smiled in satisfaction. If it could be called a smile, anyway; to her, it looked more like a grimace. He spoke in a rough voice to the pair, "Thank you, West-" obviously the older man "-and Ash."

She almost laughed at the stupidity of the code names but refrained, stepping forward to meet her trainer. He led her down a tight corridor, still blocking her view of her task. As they grew closer, he slowed, and she was forced to slow with him. The hallway was short and they were through quickly, though it wasn't until they reached the end that she gasped.

"This, Black Venom, is your first test."

* * *

"I'm going to her apartment."

The first words anybody had spoken in ten minutes, straight from Tony. He didn't wait for anyone to question him, only walking off. There was a yell of "I'm coming with you" but he ignored it, knowing full well that Abby wouldn't venture out of NCIS and into the world of undercover operations. He slid out of the building unnoticed, taking his car and flooring the gas. This was important.

He must get there, and get there fast. Hopefully she'd left a clue as to where she went (he knew better; she hadn't been at her apartment when she'd left with Quicksilver). It seemed to take hours for him to reach the apartment, though in truth it was barely a few minutes - the consequences of driving at such high speeds. Damn, he was lucky the roads were clear. He didn't have Ziva's way of weaving through traffic.

Up the stairs, through the hallways. He knew exactly which room was hers, and he knew exactly what key on his keyring was to this apartment. Of course, he didn't _have_ the key to her real apartment, but a man got his privileges when it came to undercover assignments. He flung the door open fast and stormed in, oblivious, one again, to the possibility of surveillance not his own.

On the table, in the dim light, he saw the card, laying open. He cringed at it. Why had he been so stupid as to have left this? He hadn't meant to - really, he'd meant to take it with him - but he'd forgotten it here. Forgotten it on purpose so that she would find it and realize that there was more than just her to think about now. She had to think about him, and them, and all of them together as a group. She had to know why she had to live, why she couldn't die.

She had to know that, in the end, they'd suffer just as much as she through the death of her. Or anyone, really. But he'd already gone through one death. They all had. They didn't need another.

And so he'd left the card. She'd seen it. She'd opened it. And the words…

Words. Words he'd written without thought and completely from his brain to the page. Words he wasn't sure he meant or cared about. Words that now could make him the reason for her risks. No… no.

He gave a bitter smile as he picked it up, one hand grazing the shining words. He remembered writing all of it. "_Ziva, you have to come back to us. Be careful."_

And at the bottom of the page, with an "I" crossed out beside the first word, there was the sentence, taunting him.

_"We love you._"

**A/N: I hope you understood that part, I hope you understood what I meant. Because if you read it wrong, it's not going to have the same meaning for you. Anyway, next chapter soon.**

**What is the test?**

**Will Ziva be able to keep her emotions and thought steady?**

**Is it really Tony's fault?**

**In the end, will Ziva actually make it out alive? How far will Tony go to make sure of that?**

**All this and more... soon. c:**


	9. No Stopping

**A/N: I decided to do something a bit different in this chapter and show you someone else's point of view. Hope you enjoy. This chapter is a bit more... uh, painful, for Ziva, I guess. o.o Warning. And yes, I updated really fast, because I felt like it. **

**I don't own NCIS. Do you?**

He sat in his chair and he watched, eyes trained on the woman every time she moved. He could care less about the instructor; he'd known the man for years and could be sure there would be no 'attempts', so to speak. As they stepped down the hallway and out of sight, however, he made no attempt to follow them. Instead he arose and exited the room through a door on the right, a twisted grin on his face as he noted the new bloodstains around the edges. Someone had failed training.

Xavier Jade was a complicated man, in many ways. Young, and running a Company such as this. One would wonder why he wasn't out drinking all night and partying, but that life had never enticed him. He wanted the adrenaline, he wanted the fear, and he wanted the power. Fortunately, it all fell perfectly in place for him, from the moment he had learned to shoot to the day he met the men he now trusted with his life. Even his code name had worked perfectly for him; a childhood nickname that was meant as a taunt - though he never understood how. That was what fuelled him.

That, and raw desire for power. He could care less about those who got in his way. And thus he was here, walking down a dimly lit hallway towards his private chambers, deciding that he would rather not listen to the new recruit's screams of pain. If she screamed, anyway. She gave off an aura of strength, as if she knew what she was doing and what she was going to do next. It frustrated him; somehow, she seemed to share the same power, the same control. And that… that wouldn't do.

He wouldn't have it. He could let her get close, but she could never be his highest officers. No, not until she was bent into total submission. Despite the "yes, sir's" and "no, sir's" he'd heard from her since they met, something was off. The flash of worry on her face, the way she hesitated sometimes. And the pure concentration that it took for her to do each and every task, as if she'd done it all before. She was an ex-Marine, he knew, but simply a Petty Officer. She hadn't done any training that compared to his.

And if she thought, for one instant, that he would be taken down by _her_, that he would die by her hand, that she would take over… She had another thing coming. There was more than just him to worry about. And if she attempted anything, he would give her hell.

She'd die a slow, painful death, and he'd be laughing all the way.

* * *

Her first test. If it was a test, anyway. In front of her was an obstacle course, and one that she knew would be death if she failed. Razor wires and flame just made up the part of the obstacle course in her immediate sight. She shuddered at the thought of having to go through this. But it was a way to prove her strength, was it not? She'd have to. She'd… she'd have to prove that she could still take the pain that Mossad had given her.

Ziva's mind flashed back to when she was young, sitting in her room with bandages wrapped around her feet. Her brother was there, talking, though she couldn't remember his words. She _could_ remember the burning sensation, the pains, and the intense need to cry at the time. The bottom of her feet were shredded, bloody and shredded. Wounds that would heal, but nevertheless hurt. Walking on broken glass had been one of her first tests of pain. She hadn't cried, and she hadn't yelled, but she'd been screaming inside. _Helpmehelpmehelpme._ And though it hurt, she'd done it, because it made her father proud. That was one of the few times he smiled at her since joining Mossad.

This would be the same. A test of extreme pain and endurance. She'd have to learn to do things like she had in the beginning, to identify the pain and push it to the back of her mind. She knew their would be mind games in this course. Where to step… where not to step. And she could only thank God that she was wearing shoes, for she needed no more scars criss-crossing her feet and ankles. She already had enough.

Arrow One shoved a gun in her hand, and she remembered: two bullets. What would she need the bullets for? From what she could see, there was nothing _to_ shoot. Perhaps it was a trick. If she fired, she could end up dead. Mind games. She hated them so much… and she hadn't even started the course yet. _Calm down. Calm down. Calm down._

She was vaguely aware of the man talking, pointing and gesturing. She was vaguely aware of nodding. Everything seemed to come back to life the moment he motioned for her to start. Directly ahead of her was a choice: the razor wire, or flame. She took off towards the right, slowly at first, sucking in a breath before she plunged head first into the flames. It scorched her skin, burning her clothing and crisping her hair, but she knew quite well that the razor wire would have done much worse.

In the background, she heard something that sounded like a "good job, Black Venom!" just as she fell, gasping, out of the flames. Thankfully, the wall of fire hadn't been wider than 30 centimetres, but it had felt like forever to cross it. What kind of game were they playing at? What kind of tortures did they expect her to go through? It was no wonder the men all seemed to bare scars.

Ahead of her loomed a wall. It towered above her, casting its shadow on her face. There was a rope to pull herself up, but it was knotless. If she fell, there would be nothing to help her stop herself from hitting the ground. Ziva hesitated, glad that the wall did not have any flame or wire. It was simply a wall, as far as she could tell.

She grabbed the rope and pulled, putting her left foot securely on the front face of the wall. She pulled on the rope until the tension was obvious, and slowly moved her right foot above her left. So far, so good. The burns still ached, stinging as she moved, but she ignored it as best as she could.

_I am a trained Mossad. I can do this. This is nothing compared to what I have been through before. I am a trained Mossad. I can do this._

It seemed forever before she even reached a quarter of the way up, her eyes stinging from looking almost straight up at the lights the entire time. Each time she moved had to be carefully calculated as not to fall. Even now, she was far too high off of the ground to risk falling. She'd survive, yes, but most likely break one of her legs or ankles, if she fell wrong.

Slowly, she lifted herself up the wall, concentrating solely on the top of the wall rather than the pain. She got there eventually, and stopped, for only a second, to take a breath, until she actually looked below her. There was no rope, no footholds for the way down. There was only a pool beneath her, one she hoped was deeper than her. It wasn't steaming, so she could only assume that it was below freezing.

She knew the risks of jumping. If she hit the water wrong, she could kill herself. She'd have to hit it on a perfect angle, in a dive. That would be the easy part. The problem would be getting back out in soaking clothing without losing her gun or staying long enough to get hypothermia. She'd have to launch herself out of the pool - as far as she could tell, there was no ladder or way out.

Ziva dropped her jacket behind her without care. After all, it wasn't exactly _her _jacket. She sucked in a deep breath and stared at the pool below her, imagining herself hitting it perfectly. And thus, she jumped.

The air whistled by her as she gained speed, creating a deafening roar that she couldn't block out. The water was getting closer with each millisecond, and she could have sworn she felt the cold water before she hit. Her dive was off, she realized last-second, and though she attempted to adjust it, Ziva hit the water harder than she expected.

It knocked the air out of her lungs. Her eyes had been squeezed shut, but now she opened them wide, staring around her. The water was cold, soaking into her clothing and chilling her quickly. She'd have to get out if she wanted to survive. She'd have to, because she didn't have a death wish. Petty Officer Keach didn't hadn't had a deathwish, either.

_Do this for you and for her, no matter how much of a criminal she was._

At first, it was hard to tell which direction was up, but her feet hit the bottom before long. She stared hard above her, launching herself as best as she could through the water. She hit the surface before long, gasping. Her eyes were clouded with water - she couldn't see.

And each moment she was growing colder. She wiped her eyes on her hands, gaining her some visibility, as she twisted back and forth in attempt to find the way out. The wall loomed to the left of her - not the direction she wanted. Without another thought, Ziva turned to the left and swam as fast as she could, hoisting herself out of the pool on shaky hands.

She was coughing water, and shaking harder than ever. The gun was still tightly clenched in her hand. It didn't take long for her to realize that the clothing she was wearing would only make her colder; and thus she deposited her shirt and pants on the ground, not caring whether or not she'd be seen the way she was.

The NCIS agent stumbled forward, trying to see what was to come. But she could not, for the immediate area in front of her was dark. Her feet touched the edge of the flooring, and, before she could move back, she slipped. Downwards she fell, quite aware of the speed she was accumulating before she hit the ground hard. Once again the air left her lungs and she scrambled to grab it back from the air.

Down here was lighted. She could see in front of her, though there was no obvious way up. A coil of rope lay on the ground, obviously severed. Could it be of any use? Or was it simply there to taunt her, to tell her that she'd failed and she was going to die where she was?

Unsure, Ziva picked up the rope and spun it above her head. In the dim lighting she could see a hook at the edge of the pit and felt triumphant for the first time since she'd entered the course. With as much strength as she could muster, she threw the rope, watching as it slipped over and tightened on the hook. _I still have my good shot, _she thought with a small smile.

Ziva grabbed the rope as she had with the one on the wall, slowly pulling herself up. Her grip wasn't good, however, her chilled and wet hands slipping every time she moved. It took longer to get halfway up than it had to get a fraction of the way up the wall. She was shaking now, shaking and coughing.

She shook and coughed and moved forward, trying to see _up_ as best as she could. But in her state of cold, her grasp slipped, and she fell.

Ziva David fell downwards again, and this time there was no stopping.

**A/N: :'o**

**Has Ziva failed the test? Will she die? What happens next? Find out soon!**


	10. One Of Us

**A/N: Hi there. Again. Another chapter for you guys. C: It's not my best but it's certainly got some surprises for you, and many more questions! I hope you enjoy, and thanks to all of you who have reviewed this story. Couldn't do it without you. Motivational or something.**

**I don't own NCIS, but I do own Xavier "Quicksilver" Jade. For some reason I keep wanting to call him Alexander. o.o**

Darkness.

It was all that greeted her at first, as she slowly regained the consciousness she had lost. Her eyelids felt heavier than anything she'd ever lifted before, and she gave up attempting to see after a few moments. Her bones ached, and her head hurt, but she couldn't remember why. Even simple facts, such as here whereabouts, were a mystery to her.

She drew in a deep breath, wondering only semi-consciously about why she needed it. Her arms still lay at her sides, and she was laying on her back - at least, as far as she could tell, she was. For all she knew she could be hanging from the ceiling face-down. There could even be something deadly below her for all she knew.

Ha. It would be like on of those classic movie's she'd seen with… with someone. His name was a mystery to her, but she could remember bits and pieces of his face. It would even be like the old cartoons, where the main characters were suspended over acid or something equally nasty. There _could_ be acid below her, but she doubted it. It could just as well be sharks in a pool.

_Pool._ The word that triggered it all. Her mind played back all of the things that had happened to her since starting the operation. She could place the man now, she knew who he was and what he was to her. She could feel the fear once again as the memory of standing on the wall, looking down at the pool, clicked. And she realized why her bones ached, why her head hurt so badly, why it was so hard to breathe when she so desperately needed the oxygen.

Panic hit her as this all came back to her, and she began to breathe faster, trying desperately to open her eyes. She could still be sitting on the ground, dying, for all she knew. After all, she still felt perpetually cold, though not to the extent she'd been earlier. But that seemed so wrong to her. After all she'd been through, _they_ wouldn't let her die, would they? Not the Company, not her colleagues… and certainly not Tony, she decided, the memory of his anger and concern now fresh in her mind.

Only then did she actually realize that she hadn't really _heard_ much. She prayed that it was only silent, that she could hear. Being deaf would cost her everything. She wouldn't be able to take it if she'd somehow damaged her hearing. What life was there for a deaf NCIS agent? Especially a deaf NCIS agent who had never learned sign language?

That was why it seemed like a gift when sound finally broke into her mind, echoing. The words weren't completely distinguished to her, but at least she could _hear._ "We had a situation with the trainee, sir," she heard a male voice say. It bugged her how formal he was being, as if she had enlisted in the army overnight or something.

"I can see that." the voice. She recognized it. A man's. In her mind, she could see him, nothing like the other people she'd seen. Tall. Young. He had stormy gray eyes, and he was… he was evil, she reminded herself. He was a criminal, and therefore her enemy. "Will she recover?"

"She will," the first voice answered, and there was a sound like a pen clicking against a board of some kind - perhaps a clipboard. "She should, in fact, heal quite quickly. However, she sustained a mild concussion which caused her to lose consciousness. Overexposure to freezing temperatures was expected, and she's been through a case of hypothermia, though her body temperatures should remain steady soon enough."

"When can she return to training? She's quite valuable to us. You know that," she would have said that the man was annoyed if she didn't know who he was. Considering how his personality switched, she simply decided that this was normal speak for him when consulting… whatever he was consulting. But why was _she_ so valuable? Surely enough hitmen were alive to keep the Black Jade Company alive?

"It will be a day or two, sir, before you can return her to training without risking her life. That is, ah, if she passed… you don't plan on terminating her, do you, uh, sir?" Terminating? Did that mean he planned to kill her? Had she failed so badly that he wanted nothing to do with her? But then… how was she valuable? Unless, unless they'd found out that she worked for NCIS. She could be put up for ransom.

"No. She passed her training, but barely. I will be back to check on her later," with that, she heard boots hitting the floor and a door swing open. The door closed with a snap quite quickly, though the loud noise made her head ache more. She groggily attempted to move her hand, finding in surprise that her fingers curled on command. Perhaps she really would heal fast!

Unfortunately, the remaining man must have seen her move, for she could feel his hand touch her arm in an instant. The warmth was loved, and she might have smiled if she'd actually known who had their hand on her arm. He spoke rather quickly, and she only caught part of it. "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes, Miss?"

Despite her misgivings, she tried to open her eyes. It was a slight struggle, she noted, but her eyelids eventually moved, allowing sight. Bright lights assaulted her eyes almost immediately, and she flicked them closed with a small cry. She'd seen the man, for only an instant, and could have sworn he was a doctor of some sort. But why would they have doctors in a place such as this - a place like the Company? Were they used to accidents during training? Had many people actually _died_?

"Good," she heard him mutter, and she tried to open her eyes once more. This time, the light wasn't nearly as bad, but it still blinded her. She kept her eyes open for as long as possible - only when they began to water and hurt did she shut them once more. Darkness greeted her again, and for a moment she felt a flicker of fear.

Darkness wasn't her friend. She didn't want it.

Her eyes opened a mere second later to watch the doctor. This time she kept them open, tracking his every move. Every now and then he'd mutter something she didn't catch. It was frustrating, not knowing exactly who this man was, and whether or not she'd blown the mission. No… she was still in wherever Quicksilver had taken them earlier, wasn't she? That meant that she was still alive, and the mission was still going strong.

"Well, Black Venom, you've survived training," he was suddenly speaking to her, and she found herself actually listening. "Quicksilver is more impressed than he seems to be, trust me. We don't normally throw trainees into the first test right away, but that you survived it is remarkable. Most who have done the other lessons tend to walk away with more injuries anyway. You are quite a lucky girl.

"I found some odd scar tissue, however. From before. You've had a rough life, haven't you? Why, the fact that your feet are in tact is a marvel! The spiderweb pattern is interesting, though. I'd ask how you got it but you probably don't need that memory again. Anyway, you have done quite well. Quicksilver will probably not congratulate you, in all honesty, but I can. Congratulations. You've passed, Black Venom. You're officially one of us.

"Well, not us as in me, because I just work as a doctor. It gives good pay to fix up the Company's hitmen… even if it's sort of illegal. Well, no, it's not illegal that I chose to be a doctor or anything… oh, I'm babbling again. I'm sorry. The main thing you need to know is that you passed, and you **will** live. You will probably be forced to stay home, under guard or not, for a few days however. Even Quicksilver isn't careless with the people he trains. We've lost enough men recently, we can't lose too many more or there will be no more Company.

"Oh. I shouldn't have said that," his eyes grew wide and she watched with an amused smirk. For a Company of such high security, the so-called 'doctor' was certainly telling more than he should. She wondered why they'd lost the men recently - at least that explained why she was valuable. And a chance to be home for a while, even if it was in the ugly apartment that really wasn't hers, would be welcome.

Maybe she'd have a chance to phone Abby. Or Gibbs. Or Tony. _You know you can't. At least, not from a cellphone. Maybe a pay phones. These guys can't really track pay phones… I hope._

A loud beep sounded and the man looked down at his waist. She saw a pager there, and assumed he had more business to attend to. With an apologetic smile, the man left her where he was, shutting the door behind him with a noise that rivalled the first snap in level. She sighed, leaning her head back to wait for the ringing to stop.

For a moment, there was silence, and she actually enjoyed it. No gunshots, no yelling, and certainly no adrenaline. Her training day was over and she could thank God for that. More pain would definitely not be in her benefit. Especially if the person had been right about having a concussion. She wouldn't want to be forced to run with an injury like that. Sighing, Ziva closed her eyes to allow herself sleep.

But her rest was not to be long. For, just as her eyes fluttered shut, the door opened again. The younger man she remembered searching her walked into the room (how many men did they have? Where there any actual women?) with a smile on his face that she couldn't place. She looked at him quizzically, studying his face, trying to read him, but there was nothing there, not really. She remembered his name - Ash or something - and the way he looked, and there was a strange recognition, but something was off.

And that's when he said it. For a moment, her heart seemed to stop, and the whole world paused around her.

"I know who you are, Ziva David."

**A/N: Dun dun dun dun!**


	11. Under Pressure

**A/N: Yeah... it's been a while since I've updated. My apologies, but you should like this chapter. It's a bit shorter than normal, for the simple reason that I find it more emotional than anything. :( You get to see what's happening in NCIS now. I hope you don't cry though. D: Please enjoy.**

**I don't own NCIS.**

"Director, _please._ We've lost contact, we need to send someone in. She can't handle this alone."

"She is a skilled and capable agent, DiNozzo."

"Yes, but-"

"We have no choice and you know that. Sending in another agent may blow her cover and our chance to take down the Black Jade Company. She is perfectly capable of handling herself."

"Yes, Director, but-"

"No buts, DiNozzo. She is likely still in stable condition. We can't send in another agent, least of all you. Now, I'm finished with this. Continue attempting to reestablish contact. If you can't do so in 24 hours, then we'll talk. But until then, this conversation is over."

"But…" Tony's voice turned to a whisper as he watched the retreating back of the Director, "…anything could have happened by now. Her cover is no good if she's dead."

He leaned against the cold metal railing of the stairs leading to MTAC, allowing his head to drop. His eyes focussed on nothing for more than a moment as millions of thoughts ran through his head per second. Scenarios - true or not - played out in his head, each more gruesome than the last. He'd promised himself that he would protect her, but she was gone. Completely off the radar. They'd had no luck contacting her again, or even picking up a signal. It was as if she had never been there in the first place.

It had been over 48 hours since they'd lost contact. 48 damn hours of hell. 48 hours that he'd had to stop Abby from crying, 48 hours that he'd had to stop McGee from panicking, and 48 hours that he'd had to stop himself from screaming. They were all on edge, unable to think as clearly as normal. He almost didn't want to know his co-worker's thoughts - perhaps not as bad as his own, but he didn't want more of their pain. Consoling them had kept him from screaming himself, because he'd long since realized: his strength was parallel to Gibbs' now.

If he broke down, all would be lost, and none of them could ever pick up the pieces.

Tony slowly turned, raising his eyes from the floor. He drew in a deep breath before straightening himself, attempting to look professional and calm. Once satisfied, the man walked carefully down the stairs, his eyes glued on the squad room. It took nearly all of his willpower to simply ignore the empty desk that was Ziva's. McGee was his focus right now, or should be. They all needed someone to hold them together, and thus he'd have to be strong - for all of them.

But even the strongest material breaks under enough pressure, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it.

"McGee, any progress?" he called as he reached the ground floor, automatically sitting down at his own desk. His eyes remained fixed on the other agent's face, but he knew the answer before any words were spoken.

"No, Tony," McGee's words were quiet, his face downcast and somewhat confused. "Abby and I, we're trying, but it's just not working. I can't pick up the signal."

"There has to be _something_ you can do!" Tony argued in spite of himself. He knew that they'd tried everything, he knew that none of them had really slept, that each one of them were living in their own separate hells. It had been bad enough when they'd left Ziva in Israel, but that had been different. She had pushed them to the limit, and there had been nothing they could do. He could have… he could have stopped the mission, stopped her from going undercover. They could have sent another agent in with her. But they hadn't, and team Gibbs was paying the price with each minute that passed.

"We're trying, okay?" Instantly, the senior field agent realized he'd pushed the younger man too far. McGee's words had gone from low and sad to a higher volume, and he could almost _feel_ the edge on the words. Tony only nodded slowly and stood up, making his way to the elevator.

He pushed the buttons automatically, resisting the urge to slam his fists into the cold metal walls. When the door opened, he was glad, for the temptation vanished when Abby's lab came into his view. Tony forced himself to keep his composure as he entered Abby's lab. The sight that greeted him was simple, and needed no words.

He turned on his heel and walked back to the elevator. He'd seen her - she'd been broken down, crying, frustrated. Even Abby didn't have answers for him. Was there even any reason left to hope?

He was only barely conscious of pressing the buttons, and then flicking the switch. The tiny elevator darkened around him, and he finally stopped resisting.

Tony DiNozzo began to scream as a single tear ran down his face.

There was nothing left to hope for.

* * *

_"I know who you are, Ziva David."_

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Even the clock on the wall seemed quiet for fear of breaking this deadly silence. Her eyes locked with his, a smirk playing on his face while she struggled to keep the surprise and fear from her own. Her breath had caught in her throat and she was no longer even trying to remember the importance of oxygen. This was unreal. This couldn't be happening.

All at once, everything seemed to spring to life again. Ziva shot into a sitting position faster than she ever had before, her breath unhitching. She kept her hands clenched into fists, the knuckles slowly turning ghostly white. And yet he only looked at her with that smirk - nothing had changed, save for a glint of uncertainty in the man's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but closed it, deciding it best to allow the man to speak first. Surely there was an explanation. Surely this was an undercover guard… but would Tony not have notified her if it was?

He rolled his eyes at her, taking a step forward. "Ziva, can you not at least give me the liberty of knowing you can speak? I know you have a voice. Use it."

When she did not speak, he took another step forward, and another, until he was standing right beside her. Slowly, the man sat down beside her, barely fitting on the edge of the bed. She glared but still said nothing, her heart beating faster than ever before. He seemed just as determined, and only stared at her for a moment before shaking his head in frustration.

"Honestly, I'd expect more from the daughter of Director David. But, don't you worry," the smile was there again, taunting her. "I doubt he knows. In fact, I doubt any of them know who you really are. Not anyone in this building, not anyone in Israel, and not anyone in this country, which you claim to love so much."

"But then again, maybe they do. How would you know?" he chuckled cruelly, moving his hand to her leg. She shuddered at his touch but refused to move otherwise, her eyes betraying the internal battle between fight and flight. She was far too weak to attack him and get away with it, yet she could not leave now. The undercover mission would all be over then, and she couldn't - _wouldn't_ - let that happen.

It was with this thought in mind that she spoke next, attempting to keep her voice from shaking and her words from sealing her fate. "No, in that you are right. But, I doubt I'd be alive still if Quicksilver knew."

He laughed again, sliding his other hand to her chest. He pushed her gently back into her original position, laying face-up on the bed. Slowly he drew both of his hands away and his laughter stopped abruptly, his face growing hard and cold. "I hope you know, by now, that your sarcasm and words only ever get you into worse situations. Your family never seemed to learn that."

She held his gaze, wondering only briefly how he knew anything of her family and past. Ziva resisted the urge to sit up again, her head starting to pound and hurt once again. Finally, she drew a deep breath and spoke.

"What… what is it that you want from me?"

**A/N: I honestly hope you didn't cry. Even I almost cried with Tony, and I don't cry easily. ;-;**


	12. Only Now

**A/N: Hey look, it's another update. :) Yeah. I fail because I write in bursts. xD But whatever, it's better than nothing. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I found it a little sad. ;-; Even I feel bad for Tony, and I'm writing this. I actually was going to change it because of your reviews, but decided to stick with my original thought nevertheless. Well, anyway, chapter 12 for you. Enjoy, please. :)**

**I don't own NCIS, but I _do_ own a computer. How about you?**

"Co-operation. That's all I ask."

She would have sworn that his gaze intensified at these words, but chose to remain quiet, her eyes locked in his. Years of training had taught her to suspect more - there was always fine print. Nothing was ever black and white in a red-tainted world; a saying she'd grown up with since her earliest days of Mossad, and one whose meaning had intensified through experience. Each time she'd missed the fine print, something terrible had happened. At least it had always seemed so.

Mossad. Her father. Ari. Rivkin. They'd all brought her devastation at some point in her life, and she'd been forced to abandon each and every one of them. It was for the best, and yet… it only seemed that her past followed her. This man knew quite well who she was; not a Marine nor even an American-born citizen, but an Israeli, the daughter of Mossad's infamous Director. Perhaps her past she'd never escape from, but she could only hope now that she could eventually escape from the present and where she lay now.

Her patience paid off as the man began to speak again, his eyes narrowing more. "Your very life relies on what I know, Ziva. I have enough information to kill you without actually being the one to kill you. You are to do everything I ask. One wrong move, and Quicksilver will be the first to know your true identity. I'm quite sure he'll be more than angry to find out that sweet, obedient little Black Venom is actually a federal agent."

Ziva shuddered slightly at the idea, finally breaking eye contact. She forced herself to stay calm, her mind racing faster than light. A slow breath cut the would-be silence. It brought some calm, enough to allow her next words to come clearly. "How do you know who I am to begin with?"

She winced as he chuckled darkly. His voice was still deathly calm, a sharp contrast to her own. "Don't fool yourself, Ziva David. You are hardly disguising your looks."

"Then who-" she began, only to be cut off.

"I'm done with this talk. You have your choice, you have your options. Live with it, or your fate is sealed," the man leaned over her face, eyes meeting hers once again for a split second, before he pressed his lips gently to the side of her face. She forced herself to remain still, her hands clenched in tight fists at her side. It was as if she was suffocating with every move, her mind clouded while her only objective was simple: live, if possible, long enough to get out alive as she'd promised.

The man drew away and winked at her as he stood up. Her skin crawled at the gesture, but her eyes remained fixed on him as he left the room. Deathly silence followed, as if he'd never been there - as if he was a ghost, the only evidence to his very existence being the softly closing door he'd exited by. She switched her gaze to the ceiling now, trying to drive back the panicked thoughts and the pounding that had once again begun in her head.

She allowed herself to close her eyes but fought sleep for quite some time, her mind replaying the events of the mission over in her head. Everything that had happened, from the very beginning, flashed past, her thoughts reeling with each memory.

And it was only now that she wondered if she had ever really known what she was doing in the first place.

And it was only now that she wondered if she had ever really left the past behind - if she ever would.

And as she finally allowed herself sleep, the world continued to turn, even though hers had paused around one simple collection of events.

It was much later before she awoke once again, this time greeted by a room empty of people. She was almost grateful for the stillness, the absence of any life besides her own. And yet she yearned to see the ones she was closest to, if only for a moment, before the mission was to take hold of her again. Perhaps the very sight of her team would be beneficial; even the thought of them gave her a small boost of confidence. She would leave tonight, Ziva decided, whether or not it was authorized. After all, no one had forced her to stay, and she'd seen neither doctor nor authority since many hours earlier.

How long ago had that been? She felt panic rise again at the loss of time. It could have been days - weeks, for all she knew. After all, was it not possible for those with head trauma and stress to be comatose? But… but it did not feel like weeks, it felt like mere hours, minutes even, and she hoped that she was right in her feeling of the time elapsed.

Quickly, Ziva forced her legs to swing over the side of the bed, ignoring the pounding and pain in her head. She braced herself as best as she could, her hands clutching the mattress far tighter than needed. She took great care in lifting herself up, aware of every dizzy feeling and pain spasms. A deep breath forced these thoughts to the back of her mind (she took comfort in the fact that she still had the ability to minimize pain this way) as she stood on unsteady feet, swaying gently for a few moments.

Satisfied that she could walk, if slowly, Ziva reached for the few belongings beside her bed before she remembered: she'd carried nothing with her for fear of her identity being discovered. Nothing save for her fake ID, which she snatched carefully and tucked into the pocket of her pants. Funny, she thought, looking down at her clothing for a moment. This was hardly a hospital if she was still in the very clothes she'd been wearing to her would-be death sentence however long ago.

Fear gripped her as she reached for the shining doorknob, but she allowed herself to think of her team rather than what lay between them and her. It would be good if she could weave through the obstacles and see them, for only a moment even, before she was forced undercover once again. But even if there was only a moment for her to catch a glimpse, it would be enough.

They were what kept her from falling apart, and she needed them now more than ever.

* * *

The sun had long set over Washington, DC, and the city was enveloped by darkness. Streetlights cast long shadows in dark alleys while cars raced by, flashing their lights by rows upon rows of houses. In most of these residences, the people sleeping quietly in their homes with no worries worse than what they would cook for their family's dinner the next day. Only the occasional house or apartment still revealed a blinding light to the streets, bathing would-be black grass in white light.

One of these apartments, nestled securely between the Naval base and edge of the city, held only one shining light. Nevertheless, it was dark inside this apartment, the single lamp throwing shadows on the ugly wall behind it. For once, however, the occupant did not mind the darkness - in fact, he preferred it. The apartment was black and white, as was his world, except for the red, red blood that he was oh-so-sure he'd find… later. Her blood.

They'd worked the past 12 hours without thought, mechanically going through the motions. After his breakdown, he'd almost sworn that the mood had swung down even more. They were all lost in their work, unsure where to go next to get back the woman they all loved so dearly. The friend, the co-worker… he was even positive that Gibbs would be panicking by now, if he knew. They'd refrained from informing the silver-haired man on Director's orders, for the simple reason that he would show up for work before he was due and once again ruin the meaning of "days off."

What a joke, he thought miserably. The one person who could get her back, and still pull of the mission - he was gone, and they were forbidden to contact him. By now, he was so certain that Gibbs would have corrected the situation before it had been as lost as it was now. Gibbs would have protected her as she needed it, and made sure each moment had been safe. Gibbs would have made sure it would all be okay in the end. But he was not Gibbs, and Gibbs was not present; it was his job to protect the woman, and he was failing miserably.

He hadn't been sure why he'd gone to this apartment, and he was even less sure now. Waiting for her was useless, he knew that she wouldn't come back to this apartment - would she? - and if she did, he doubted it would be alone. But the worry canceled out the logic, at least in his mind. And so he was sitting in her undercover apartment, staring at the walls he detested for even being there, his arms hugging his knees to his chest. He looked a mess, like a little child after they'd been apprehended by their parents.

She'd probably find this a funny sight, he thought, him sitting the way he was. She'd probably laugh at him, tease him for his hear sticking up in all directions, the circles under his eyes, and the obvious disdain. She'd comment on him being such a child, his emotions all over the place and his mind hardly far behind. She would… wouldn't she?

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he snapped his head up. No… he was imagining things, that had to be it. But even as the key clicked in the lock, he knew.

And tears streamed down his face as he moved the few steps to the door and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her forehead.

**A/N: Dun dun dun! :) What happens next? Is the mission over? (of course not, I wouldn't end it that quickly!) If it's not, what's in store for Ziva and the team next? Will Ziva manage to "co-operate" and stay alive? Who IS the man threatening her life, and what is he really after? All this and more... relatively soon!**


	13. Speak

**A/N: Yet another chapter for those of you who continue to follow the story. :) I found this chapter surprisingly easy to write. Maybe it had something to do with the song I've had playing in the background, maybe not, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Oh, and I don't own NCIS, but does anyone really own it anyway?**

_And tears streamed down his face as he moved the few steps to the door and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to her forehead._

He was crying. Tony DiNozzo was honestly crying, and it was her fault. She stood, shocked, in his embrace, resisting the urge to simply pull away. He was saying something, but she couldn't make out the words, and merely nodded in response. He only pulled her tighter, drew a deep breath, and then released her.

It was over so fast. She stepped away, staring at his tear-streaked face, his eyes seeking seeking only for her. It was too much - too much to know the damage she'd caused in such a short time, too much to know he'd been so panicked.

"Oh, God, Ziva," he whispered, reaching a hand up to brush it down the side of her face. She winced at the touch, involuntarily stepping backwards - at once she saw the mistake, but it was too late to correct it. Confusion and hurt flashed in his eyes, yet his voice remained calm and quiet, as if she'd never moved. "You're… you're actually alive."

The obvious exhaustion and pain in his words caused her to avert her gaze, and she moved away from him slowly, seeking out the uncomfortable couch. Once she found it, she perched pristinely on the arm, staring at the wall. At least, she'd been staring at the wall until he reappeared, sitting down opposite her.

"Speak, Ziva," he whispered. "We've been working around… the clock. I don't think Abby's slept in two days. Hell, I don't think I've slept since we lost contact. What happened, Ziva? What happened to you?"

Still she kept silent, if only for a few heartbeats. A million words ran through her head, none of them seemed enough to describe what had happened since she'd last seen him. This wasn't the ordinary mission, she knew, and he knew just as well that describing it would be nearly impossible. And yet, she'd have to. The Director would want to know, Abby would want to know, they'd all want to know exactly what had happened in the last 60 hours of hell.

"Nothing has happened," she lied quietly, now holding his gaze as best as she could. He inclined his head to the side, frowning, and she instantly knew she'd been caught. He'd always been able to read her far too well - a trait she'd hated throughout the time they'd been partners, but now, it was a small relief.

"Nothing… nothing _much_ has happened," Ziva corrected. His eyes pleaded for more but she sealed her lips. Putting the past events into words - it was impossible. Impossible to tell of anything without being pulled from the mission, and she couldn't let that happen. Not _now,_ not after so much…

"Don't lie to me. I don't know about you, but these last 60 hours have been hell, Ziva. For all of us. Even Abby was giving up. Shit, they don't even know you're alive, Ziva." Tony's voice had changed so suddenly that she couldn't be sure of what was happening. Had she pushed him too far with her silence? Surely she hadn't caused _that_ much damage in being MIA for however many hours he'd said.

"Don't lie to _yourself_," she was speaking without thought now, her eyes narrowed and each of her words venomous. "You think you've been through hell? All you've done is sit since I've left. You - don't - know - anything."

He was up in a flash, eyes blazing a furious green. It only made him wonder what he'd done to get himself in this position once again; she always seemed to reject his concern. She never saw _his_ pain, did she? Not even Abby's pain was registering with her right now! And he was furious, so damn furious, his hands clenched in fists so tight that his knuckles were deathly white. Still she held his gaze, her eyes betraying as much poison and threat at his.

"You don't care, do you?" He was trying hard not to scream. After everything they'd been through to try and get her back, she pretended nothing had happened. She pretended as if they hadn't cared much, as if they'd simply sat and enjoyed coffee for the past two and a half days!

"For God's sake, Ziva! I've spent two and a half days keeping the team together because they were convinced you were _dead._ Hell, I thought you were dead. And sure, I didn't go after you - Vance wouldn't let me. So yeah, I guess you can sit there and say we did nothing, and know nothing, but I hope you're proud of yourself. After everything we did for you, everything we've been doing without sleep, you can just sit there and pretend we did nothing. Go ahead! I'm done with this. I'll tell Abby you're alive, and then, go ahead, go back into the mission. I - don't - give - a - shit."

He turned on his heel and stalked towards the door. Rage radiated off him. She only stared, biting her lip. Just as he reached for the door, his hand touching the freezing metal, she stood, and reached for him. Her hands touched his arm just as he turned the knob, and he debated simply leaving her there, but thought better of it. Tony turned, taking a deep breath. He caught her gaze instantaneously and held it, though he refused to speak first.

"Tony…" she began, but shut her mouth before speaking anything she didn't want to. Disappointed, his eyes narrowed and he began to turn again. Her grip tightened on his arm. "I… I am sorry. You did not deserve that."

"I understand… that you have been through a lot. As have I," she continued, searching his eyes for any sign that he'd accepted her apology. "But I have to do this mission… I will explain to you what has happened, if you make me one simple promise: you will not remove me from this mission. _No matter what._"

"Shit, Ziva, that's not much of a deal," he was speaking more to himself than her. For a moment, he debated the options; either way, he knew that Vance would likely take Ziva's side. It would be far better to find out what exactly had happened to her - and yet, at the same time, he almost didn't want to know what had occurred since he'd last seen her. Something wasn't right, he only realized now as his eyes took in her face up close. Cuts, bruises, and… burn marks? "Alright. Fine, but I want the whole story. _Including_ how the hell you got those burn marks on your _face_."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Not much actually happened. I left with Quicksilver - I assume that's about the time you lost connection, isn't it? We drove to… I'm not quite sure. He left me with a man, "Arrow One", he called himself. He introduced me to my first "test." Which… is where I got the burn marks. Flame was only one of the obstacles I had to face, Tony. Hypothermia was another, and I believe… I lost consciousness. I'm not entirely sure what happened from that point on, but I think I might… _might_ have a concussion."

He reached a hand up to touch her forehead gently, and she flinched under his touch. Tony slowly drew his hand back and nodded. "And… you got here… how?"

"Surprisingly, a taxi isn't hard to get in DC," she smiled, but her smile quickly faded into seriousness. "No one had said I was forced to stay. I don't think anyone noticed my leaving. Quicksilver will have ways of contacting, I'm sure. I wasn't told I needed to stay, so I walked out. Quite hard if you're dizzy and your head hurts, though manageable. I called a taxi and came here. I would have gone to NCIS, but… my cover would have been blown then."

"That's it?" he asked. It didn't sound like much when spoken, Ziva realized. She stared at him for a few moments, debating on whether to inform him of the man - the one who'd known her identity. But surely that would get her removed from the case!

"Yes, I believe so."

"I'm going to have to tell Vance. Abby and McGee will need to know… Alright?" When she nodded, Tony pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her for a brief moment before letting go again. "You'll stay in the mission, but you need to get to a hospital before you do. _Seriously_ Ziva."

She nodded again, and he smiled painfully. He wanted to stay, but knew better. The longer he delayed telling Vance, the worse their situation would be back at NCIS. And he'd promised her the mission - delaying might destroy that promise. Hell, he'd love to have not promised anything, to have taken her out, but it had seemed the only way. With one last glance over his shoulder, he exited her undercover apartment.

Ziva could only watch. She'd almost wanted to ask him to stay with her, if only for the night - just to call Vance, explain over the phone - but she knew it wasn't an option. Now that she was alone in the dark apartment, she felt so alone, so small. The woman slid down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees. She rested her forehead carefully on her knees, closing her eyes to the world. Despite her rest earlier, she felt so exhausted now, tired of everything that had happened. Seeing Tony hadn't given her the boost she'd expected. Maybe it was because they weren't a team while she was undercover; they were a completely different unit, functioning without her. The undercover operation - was it even worth it?

_Of course. You'll save countless of lives_, she reminded herself guiltily. _The Black Jade Company is only there for destruction… I have to take down Quicksilver… I have to, there's no one else who can do it. And even if there was, they would never take the opportunity after another agent's failure…_

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't remember that the door was still unlocked. She didn't notice the soft footsteps outside the room, nor the turning of the doorknob once again. She didn't notice as a shadow passed over her wall, as a man entered the room.

It was only when his hand touched her shoulder did she look up, and only then did she realize her mistake.

Perhaps what she'd neglected to mention would be her killer in the end. But as she stared into his face, only one thought ran through her head, clear and true to her fear.

_Will there ever be an end to this hell?_

**A/N: I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this, but tomorrow's Turkey Day (Thanksgiving - at least in Canada), so I figured I'd give it to you tonight. ;)**


	14. Remember

**A/N: Wow, I have to say I loved tonight's NCIS episode. Gibbs and the wrench? That was hilarious. :) For those of you who haven't seen 8x04, you have to see it ASAP. By far one of the best episodes in season 8, and better than a lot of those in season 7. A very well done episode, full of Abby/Gibbs father-daughter moments, Tiva, and British people. But you're not here for a review. So... enjoy chapter 14 of this story! ;)**

**I don't own NCIS. If I did, there would be more episodes like Royals & Loyals.**

He was grinning at her, hand gripping her shoulder tightly. Hate blazed in her brown eyes, but she said nothing, only stared back. Questions ran through her head, too many to count, each more unsure than next. How had he found where her undercover apartment was? _It can't be that easy…_ How had he known that she would be here?

"You look a little panicked," he commented, running his free hand down the side of her face. She only barely resisted the urge to strike him, drawing deep breaths in attempt to keep her temper under control. "Why would _you,_ Ziva David, be scared of me? I haven't done anything… yet."

Her eyes narrowed and she finally shook his hand off her shoulder. Upon freeing herself from his grip, she shot up, once again holding his intense gaze. Despite her sudden movement, the man didn't seem to particularly care, only stood. If he cared of anything, then perhaps he didn't show it. She hardly knew who he was, after all. With this in mind, she spoke slowly. "Who are you, and why are you in my home?"

It was then that he began to laugh, a laugh that chilled her and enraged her simultaneously. Her fists tightened at her sides. The only thing restraining her from forcibly removing him from her undercover apartment was one thought: _I must do this mission, and I must keep my temper to do so._ It seemed almost as though he could read her mind, or perhaps her eyes, for his grin only widened. When his laughter subsided abruptly, she was still standing, frozen, only glaring.

"Don't fool yourself. This isn't _your_ home," he scoffed, and waved his hands around, lingering pointedly on where the distasteful curtains hung. "Surely the David family can afford more than this. Are you forgetting your identity? Perhaps that fall did the opposite of what I'd hoped. I'd thought, maybe, it would knock some sense into you, but obviously not. And you still believe I am a fool. Think, Ziva, you know who I am."

Frustration set in once again as she studied his face, reluctantly taking his advice and thinking. His young face was no different than the thousands she'd seen before, was it? She willed for a memory to attach itself to this man, but nothing came to mind. The smooth, pale skin accompanied by darker brown hair and ash-gray eyes. Only one name came to mind, and she knew it was just a codename. _Ash._ That was what Arrow One had called him. But Ash… Ash meant nothing to her! Angrily, Ziva dropped her gaze.

"You don't remember me? Shame, after all that's happened. I thought you had a photographic memory. I guess not…," he reached his hand up and brushed aside the hair covering her temple. A small, twisted smile played on his lips as he did this. His hands brushed over a scar, and the grin widened. "Think, Ziva."

And she realized. She would have stepped backwards, had there not been a wall behind her. He only smiled back at her, his grin taunting, his eyes laughing. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten him, after all of these years? And as she looked closer, everything fell perfectly into place. He wasn't as young as he looked - how had she been fooled so? He had been there, ten years ago, and he'd been the one to extinguish the first flame of happiness in her life.

The urge to kill him arose but she pushed it down, knowing full well that she could not kill a man without probably cause. But after everything he'd done, how could she leave him alive? How could she leave him woundless, when even _she_ bore wounds from that fateful night?

"You _do_ remember," his voice was almost delighted now, though there was still a recognizable edge to it. "How interesting. I'd thought you might have forgotten, after the amount of time it's been since I first contacted you. Well, no, I first contacted you when you were searched - be glad it wasn't a strip search. Quicksilver is quite fond of those. He's quite paranoid, even for a so-called mastermind. And yet, he's clueless. But I know. I know who you are. And you remember me, don't you? Ha! That's good, Ziva. You remember what happened, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she whispered, her voice sharp as a knife. Ziva closed her eyes for a moment and leaned into the wall. This couldn't be happening. She'd thought he'd been gone, perhaps dead, but nevertheless forever banished from her life. Her father had promised she'd never see him again… but he never spoke truth, did he? _That was back when I trusted him._

For a few heartbeats, there was silence. Her eyes met his once more and she fought her mind, trying desperately not to relive her past. No… she didn't want to see the images again, not after having dealt with the aftermath the first time. And this time, she was alone, unprotected. No one knew of this man. She hadn't told Tony, she hadn't mentioned anything to anyone. And this was what she'd have to deal with. _Was the world ever even fair to begin with?_

But she couldn't hold off forever, and as she stared into those gray eyes, the memories came flooding back. She remembered the day had been bright and warm. She remembered that she'd been sitting on the bed with a man beside her. His arm was around her, and she remembered the thrill and love she'd felt when he was around. It was the first and last time she'd allowed herself to actually love anyone; even with Michael, her heart had been guarded.

And she remembered the screaming outside. He'd gotten straight to his feet and pulled a gun - she'd been right behind him, but he'd forced her to stay, fearing for her life and his. They'd both been on an assassination mission not too long ago, and they'd been afraid they'd left an asset behind. Yet they said not a word, for the asset was a child. Neither could bring themselves to kill such an innocent, young child.

The door to the room had flown open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. He'd raised his arm to shoot, but the other man had been quicker. She now remembered the gray eyes, the brown hair, the pale skin of the killer. There had been no hesitation, no remorse. A gunshot had gone through her lover's heart, and it was only his quick thinking that saved her. A knife would have gone through her skull if not for his movement. Even in times of dying, he'd protected her. And as she screamed, the killer had fled, dark blood staining her hands red. The blood hadn't been her own - only a cut just above her temple bled.

_The scar,_ she thought, touching it gently. It took all of her strength to stop herself from getting emotional again. Here was the killer, the one sworn to kill her and her love. He'd succeeded in only one, and he'd left them to die. But only one had died, and as she stood in front of him, her heart beating rapidly, his new mission was almost clear. He was here for revenge… yet, he hadn't killed her? Was it a personal vendetta? Was he related to the child she'd let live, or the man she'd killed without second thought?

"Do you remember my name?" he asked, and then chuckled. "Of course not. I was not so reckless as to leave assets behind… besides you, but I'd been certain you'd died. And you did not exactly reveal my description, nor come after me. I'd always thought you were the kind to do so. But perhaps not; perhaps you are soft after all. What happened to the cold blooded Ziva David I had heard of?"

"I'd been glad, though, don't get me wrong. You'd left behind my sister's child, killed only his father. I loved that little boy. And that you brought him so much pain… some days, I think he'd be better off dead, after the damage you caused. His father died before his very eyes. You were sent to kill him as well. Yet, you didn't. You let him live. And for what? He's no use to anyone now. A depressive teenager, that's about all he is. He has no future in the military or Mossad or any of that."

"If you haven't guessed why I'm here, I'd be surprised, Ziva David. I can not kill you, it's true, for you are under protection by the US and NCIS, but I can make sure you suffer through this whole investigation and perhaps after. Because I know your identity, and knowledge can kill. I hope you remember that."

"But don't worry… I haven't any reason for you to suffer today. You've been through enough that stress could kill you. I'm here for one simple reason: Quicksilver has orders for you. You are to visit the hospital, and you are to be ready to meet him in two days. _Alone._ I wouldn't bring any of your NCIS friends if you want to live. He's had blood in his eyes since you nearly failed the test."

She was still frozen, staring at him. His words hardly meant much to her, not after the time that had passed. She'd made a mistake in letting the child live, and it had cost her dearly in the end. It was something she'd never forget, but the wellbeing of the child meant nothing to her now. Ziva shook her head in attempt to clear her thoughts as he finished speaking, and nodded at the orders. She'd be back in the mission so soon…

"Shalom, Ziva," he whispered, and leaned forward to press his lips to her cheek. The man retreated, and only then did she move. His parting only puzzled her; why did he bother with the formalities? This man had as much blood in his eyes as he'd said Quicksilver did. He wanted to make her suffer, he'd said.

_If I have not been through enough yet, than what can he do to me?_

The thought chilled her to the bone.

* * *

Tony sat at the bar, his head rested on one of his arms. Two friends sat on either side of him, all three men having drank far too much. They were talking, or trying to, but the conversation seemed almost as though it did not want to exist tonight. Both of the other men had immediately noticed Tony's silence tonight, but had refrained from addressing it for as long as they could. When he finally began to be a bore, one of the men sighed and pushed his bar stool back.

"You have seriously got to snap out of it, man," he decreed.

"Yeah, Tony, Cayleb's right. You're kind of a downer today," the other man chirped. He, too, pushed back his bar stool and joined Cayleb in standing. They both stared at Tony, waiting for an answer, but he only shrugged in reply. Exasperated, Cayleb shook his shoulder.

"What is it now, DiNozzo? Come on. You wanted to go for drinks but you're not talking to us. Even Rob is noticing that you're not right, and he never does," Cayleb accused, ignoring Rob's muffled exclamation.

Tony shrugged and stood up to join them. "Listen, guys, it's been fun and all. But I don't know. Something doesn't feel right. I left Ziva too soon… I should have stayed with her. But I can't… and I have to. I'll have to see you guys later."

As he left the bar, Cayleb turned to the other man and shook his head. It was a few moments before he spoke, his words reluctant and quiet.

"That girl is going to break his heart."


	15. She's My Partner

**A/N: Yay, another chapter. :) It's a tiny bit longer than normal, because I felt like putting the first part... which wasn't really necessary but was fun to write. c: Enjoy?**

**I don't own NCIS, but maybe you do.**

_"That girl is going to break his heart."_

Tony stopped moving as soon as he left the building. The cool night air hit him hard, and he began to shake. It was only then that he realized he had no ride, no possible way to get to Ziva's short of walking. He could barely walk in a straight line, restricted by cold and the drinks he had, and now that he thought about it, she would be okay on her own. He'd left earlier because he had to - he could not go back. He knew better. He was an agent. A smart, talented, senior field agent. And yet, he wanted so badly to go and check on her. Something didn't feel right, but he could not think of what that could be.

Reluctantly, he decided to abandon the idea of visiting her and pulled out his phone instead. It may be dangerous to text her, but surely not as dangerous as to see her. In his intoxicated state, he hardly thought that Quicksilver's men might search her phone. With clumsy fingers, he typed a few words, stopped, and deleted them. He put the phone on a nearby bench and sat down beside it, simply staring around him.

His buddies emerged from the bar, both looking around. Cayleb quickly spotted him, and he almost wanted to pretend he hadn't seen them, but decided that talking might just be inevitable. His green eyes locked with Cayleb's blue as the younger man walked towards him, short brown hair sticking up wildly and moving with the night air. Rob followed not too far behind him, though his movements were slow, reluctant. Did he even want to be there?

"Hey, Tony, we were afraid you would leave," Cayleb stated, grabbing on to the park bench to steady himself. He sat down, moving the phone aside, before he continued, "You're not in a good state to drive. I don't think any of us are. Not that I've had _that_ much alcohol, but hey, cops don't get off easy if we get caught drinkin' and driven'."

"You would know," Tony mumbled, wishing them all away. "Or at least Rob would."

"So what is it about Ziva that makes you leave the boy's night out, Tony? Seriously, even _I_ don't leave for anything like that," Rob asked, ignoring Tony's comment. Tony only rolled his eyes and attempted to slide farther down the bench, but as he lurched and nearly fell, he decided it was a bad idea. If only they would go away, go away. He didn't want them right now. Not anymore. He just wanted peace. Peace, and Ziva.

"I'm just worried," Tony attempted to reason, but his friends just shook their heads in amusement. It was frustrating to a fault. They thought he was worried for a different reason. But no, she was his partner… he had a right to be worried, didn't he? She was in a dangerous undercover operation. Surely he should be allowed to worry!

"Tony DiNozzo doesn't get _worried_ over women," Rob scoffed. "He gets excited. He gets frustrated. He even gets confused sometimes. But never in my life have I seen Tony DiNozzo get _worried_ about a woman!"

He was on his feet faster than ever before; later, they would swear the Earth stopped and only he moved. Rage blazed in his eyes, his hands in fists at his sides. It only took him a few seconds to spit out the words, "Shit, she's my PARTNER! Fuck you!" before he turned and walked away. The words hit the pair like a gunshot; they'd never seen him like this. Not this agitated, and they'd never heard him swear like that - not at them, anyway. Shocked, the two men stared at each other.

And then they realized. On the bench still lay his phone. With a cautious glance at Rob, Cayleb picked up the phone. His fingers flew across the keyboard, and with a satisfactory _click_, he hit send.

In her apartment, Ziva's phone buzzed. She groaned, exhausted, and reached for it tiredly. Words popped up on the screen; she couldn't make them out at first, but as her eyes began to focus, her heart stopped.

_Ily, zi, ily._

_

* * *

_

"Yes, sir. I understand. I will meet you outside the doors as soon as I can."

Ziva flipped her cellphone shut and shoved it in her pocket. She rose slowly, acutely aware of the nagging pain at the back of her head. Around her, the hospital was bright and clean. She almost wanted to stay here, if not for the need to get back into the mission. Besides, the doctors hadn't asked her to stay. They'd told her to take it easy for a while, and they'd left her back in the waiting room.

It had been two days since she'd walked out of… wherever she'd been. Two days since she'd last seen Tony, two days since she'd had to worry about Ash's promise to make her suffer. The two days were all she needed to get back on her feet. Energy pumped through her body now. She couldn't wait for the exhilaration and adrenaline of being undercover. Of course, she'd prefer if the undercover work didn't get her killed; she'd been lucky enough not to die last time.

She'd had minimal contact with the team since she'd 'safely' returned - likely under Vance's orders. It must have been a nightmare to keep Abby from texting, or calling, or contacting her in any way, she mused. McGee was smart enough now that he knew when he could contact her, and when he could not; now was definitely a time he could not, and thus she received nothing from him. But Tony… Tony had sent her the text message. She'd had trouble trying to read it at first, but the message was clear enough. He was probably drunk, she had decided later on, and didn't remember the text message. So she never replied, and she never acknowledged, only deleted the text with only a small twinge of regret.

As her hand met the icy, metal exit of the hospital, she attempted to force all thoughts of her team to the back of her mind. Thinking about them would expose her weakness; she might even say something she didn't mean. Quicksilver was hardly a fool. If she thought of her team for most of the session, then he would pick up on it. Sighing, Ziva stepped outside.

The air that greeted her was icy, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She scanned the parking lot quickly, finding no obvious vehicles. How was she to know which one Quicksilver was in? There were many here - black, blue, red; old and new. Taking her best guess, she started for a dark blue car, only to be stopped suddenly by a hand. She turned to the person, instantly switching to a defensive position before realizing who it was. Her mistake was clear immediately, and his eyes narrowed.

"Were you planning to attack me? Surely after your first _test_ you should know better?" his tone was innocent enough, but the intent and anger was evident. "Each and every one of us can pass that test to a bare minimum. I thought you were tough enough to complete it all. I was wrong. And, you know what, Black Venom? I don't _like_ being wrong. You passed the test, but barely. There's not much we can do with you today, but I'll _ask_ you to come with me anyway. And no, it's not really a question or a plea; it's an order. Get in the car, Black Venom. Now."

Startled by his harshness, Ziva obeyed, turning to find a black car waiting for them. Black. Of course it was black. Every villain's car was black, wasn't it? At least in films. She chuckled quietly in laughter until she felt Quicksilver's gaze on her, which promptly caused her to keep quiet. If he'd been all over the place with his personality before, he wasn't now. The deathly calm, the controlled voice - it scared her a little bit. She was used to this man bouncing between personalities faster than Abby finished her Caf-Pows. Was he that upset over her performance?

Better yet, what was her consequence to be?

She slid over as far as she could, buckling her seat without a word. Quicksilver sat beside her, talking quietly with the driver. Only a few words were audible, yet the driver seemed to understand, even if Ziva was confused. As the car sped quickly out of the parking lot and down the street, she found that he was now staring at her intently. She moved slightly, attempting to hide her uneasiness, but his gaze was unwavering.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself, Black Venom?" he asked quietly. She stared back, heart beating fast as she thought of the best possible answer. An apology was out of the question; she couldn't seem weak! But not giving him anything would only make her seem like a lost child. Without any other idea of what to say, she resorted to words she'd used long ago, in Mossad.

"Yes, sir. I am disappointed in myself and will attempt to do better next time. Sir, I recognize my failures, and they will not reoccur." The formality of it all almost made her laugh - out of nervousness than anything. However he seemed to accept this somewhat apology happily, and his face changed from angry to almost smiling. Relieved, Ziva allowed herself to release the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. _I guess Mossad even has its uses now… without the training, I would have only enraged him further._

"Very good. I'm glad you realized where you went wrong. Do you think you'll be well enough to try the test again in the future?" Quicksilver asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Yes, sir, though I'd been informed that I'd passed. Was I wrongly informed?" The thought of doing the test again was enough to make her stomach churn. She didn't want the freezing water, the scorching flames or any of it. Not again. The first time had been enough, and she'd never gotten to the part with where the gun had been needed. It relieved her when he shook his head _no_, and began to speak.

"No, you will likely not have to repeat the test. If you can continue steady progress through your… _lessons,_ you may find yourself forced again, or dead. Your choice," his voice was so deadly calm, so casual. She pushed back the surprise; of course he could say these things with ease. He'd probably killed many people before, considering that he was the head of a "Company" that dealt in death and drugs. Sometimes she allowed herself to forget that, and only cursed herself when she did, for forgetting could decide her fate.

"Yes sir. I understand. What will be happening today?"

"Nothing. You, Black Venom, will be leaving as soon as my driver stops the car. I have places to be today, and no one to babysit you. I doubt you can do much with your injury either way, so take this as a sick day, if you must. I will expect you to be ready to resume training tomorrow, however. I will be personally training you when I can, and when I can not, be sure that I will review every occurrence later. If I were you, I would not think that this will be easy. It will not."

"It's time for you to leave. Have a good day, my friend, but don't do anything you normally would not. I expect you tomorrow at 0500 hours. Early, perhaps, but I have plans to test your intelligence, endurance, and ability with a gun. Good bye, Black Venom, take care."

His parting words were almost caring, she mused as she got out of the car. Almost as soon as her shoes hit the pavement, the car was gone, only leaving a trail of dust behind it. She shook her head and sighed, looking around her. Despite having lived in DC for four years, she had absolutely no idea where the driver had stopped and left her.

In her pocket, her cellphone began ringing violently, and she grabbed for it quickly. Her eyes lit up when she realized the ring tone was the one she'd set especially for NCIS (oh, how she loved technology). She flipped open the phone almost too eagerly, already smiling. Had Abby called to check in…?

"David," her face fell when she realized exactly who it was, but Ziva restrained herself from sighing, "Do you have any progress on Quicksilver? We need you to get close to him before we can bring him down."

"Uh. Director, I can not report much progress… the relationship is not improving quickly. He's guarded, and his personality is a puzzle. I'm confident I can figure this out, though," she spoke quickly, hoping only that he wouldn't take her words as failure. It was a relief when she didn't hear swearing or accusations over the phone, though there _was_ talking in the background. Briefly, she wondered where he was - MTAC, perhaps?

"We can't keep you in this mission for too long, David. Your team is already needing you back. You need to get close to him, as fast as you can. This might take weeks, or even a few months, but I can't send you undercover for a year."

The phone line went dead, and Ziva sighed. She placed the phone back in her pocket and turned towards the street.

It was time to kick it up a notch. And after everything, she was happy for end game.

It couldn't be too long before this game was over.

**A/N: "Ily, zi, ily" = I love you, Zi, I love you.**


	16. Other Games

**A/N: Look, it's me again! With another chapter. :) I have a few ideas for this story that should take you all for an interesting ride (if that made sense). Twists and turns and little plot bunnies, how I love them. Things might just hit a stage where you really do want to hit me, and hey, if they do, feel free to. Just not to hard. And not literally, because my arm is killing me right now!**

**I don't own NCIS.**

_It couldn't be too long before this game was over._

The mere thought of this excited her, though it left an uneasy feeling that lingered in her mind for the rest of the day. Without a second thought, she'd quickly returned home, only to be faced with an empty apartment that she truly did not want to be alone in. Left to her own devices for much of the day, Ziva went over thousands of scenarios in her head, each ending worse than the last. She'd have to plan how this all worked out, or die like a fool rather than a hero. If given a choice, she'd rather not die at all, but everyone, subconsciously, has a preferred way to die, did they not?

She could imagine the tools Quicksilver must have at his disposal. Multitudes of men, all heavily armed with only blood in their eyes, and the weaponry themselves. She'd seen bad before - everything from a blowtorch to a saw that cut through bone - but never had the worst tools been used on her. Somalia had taken a toll on her, but Salim had never had the tools that Quicksilver possessed. And, if anything, she wouldn't let herself be captured again.

While she _had_ been rescued, she'd also promised herself, long ago, that she would never be taken alive for fear of being used against her allies or being beheaded. She'd already played captive once, and had no desire to do so again. If she could, she'd die a hero's death - silent, standing, and with more blood on her sword than on the enemy's.

With each passing moment, she ran over another scenario, imagining her reaction to everything Quicksilver might attempt. Perhaps she could shoot him instead of targets tomorrow - a quick, easy death for him, but she'd likely never live through the hour. It might just be easy to slip toxins in his drink, but she'd never seen him drink much and she'd have no control over his company. Or maybe, just maybe, she could play the good little soldier, and do whatever he said to. Even if it meant crossing a line she didn't particularly want to cross. That way would surely gain her access to the Company… and then… she could kill him, could she not?

Finally, as the ticking of a clock got to her and she looked up at it, she decided to let her mind rest as best as she could. Thoughts still buzzed within as she rose from the chair that she'd been sitting on for what seemed to be forever, her muscles stiff and her eyes itching with exhaustion. She yawned and made her way to the bedroom, nearly falling in the doorway. It was nearly 11:00 pm! How could she have let herself sleep so late, when she had to meet Quicksilver at 0500 hours the next morning?

She lay in bed silently for many minutes, staring at the ceiling above her as she attempted to force her mind to stop thinking. The only sound in the apartment was the obnoxious ticking of the clock that had brought her back to reality anyway. There was an urge to throw it, as if maybe, by breaking the link to reality, she'd break her thoughts, but she knew better. Smashing something like that would only lead to questions, and that would probably eventually lead to a psyche evaluation that she didn't particularly want. She could imagine the questions now, even.

"_Why did you smash the clock? Were you angry, Ziva? What do you mean, you're not angry? Then why did you break the clock and part of the apartment? Is something wrong? Do you need time off?"_

The questions buzzing in her mind seemed to lull her to sleep, but it was fitful, and she turned all night, constantly trying to shut out the dreams that plagued her mind. These were in no way good dreams; she relived the flames and the fights and the fear, each moment flashing before her eyes long enough for her to truly feel the pain before it was replaced by another, equally damaging, memory-dream.

When she awoke in the morning, her movements were mechanical, as if she'd done them so many times. And, in some respects, she had. However, her routine was not normally here, and definitely altered as she looked longingly outside, the thought of a run nagging at her mind. Ziva's eyes and mind were still clouded with sleep, hardly awake enough for the day coming, by the time she made it out the door and into her car. Even driving became mechanical motions - in more ways than one.

As she pulled into the parking lot where they'd first laid eyes on one another, her senses sharpened, and she seemed to wake by the sight of the place. Tires squealed behind her and she barely managed to swerve out of the way, pulling to a rough stop, before the vehicle would have hit her. Black car, tinted windows - it was obviously Quicksilver's, and she recognized it instantly. Drawing a deep breath, she exited the car, reminding herself of the little details. It was so much easier to lie than remember the little lies that were part of her cover.

Quicksilver stepped from his own car and was in front of her faster than she'd thought possible, but she only greeted him with an awkward smile. Years of training had taught her that speaking to the higher ranks first was not always welcome, and, after the anger he'd expressed earlier, she decided it was best to simply wait for her queue to speak. The man seemed to approve of this, waiting a few seconds before nodding to her and speaking. "Black Venom. You made it. How are you feeling?"

The tension in the air seemed to crack at that second, and she was glad for it. He didn't seem to be in such a bad mood today, and at least _seemed_ to be concerned about her health after the 'test'. Yet, he was a master of deceit, the very art she prided herself in, and nothing could be said without careful consideration.

"Well," when she spoke, her voice was even, and she was quite proud of it, "I am doing well."

She had an urge to add more to her answer but resisted it. Over detailing her eagerness might make her answer sound faulty, preplanned, mechanical. He'd pick up on that right away. However, he didn't seem to notice her hesitation and only nodded once again.

"I hope you're prepared for today. The doctors at your hospital informed me of the concussion and injuries. Unfortunately, this means that you will not be doing much for the next few days, as I'd rather test your mind than kill you testing your strength. But, you can handle this, right?" Quicksilver flashed his smile at her, and she grinned back, her mind instantly flipping to a scenario she'd went over the day before. This might just be her chance to 'get close to him'. Of course, it could end in ways she hardly wanted it to, but her duty was to the country she now called her own, and she'd do anything to protect it.

"Of course," she told him, adding a little wink in. She might have chanced a step closer if he hadn't taken it himself, the man right in her face as she spoke the next line. "Mind games. Games. They're all quite fun."

_'I sound like Tony,'_ she thought, but regretted it instantly. Thoughts of her team would not aid her in a time when she was supposed to be playing hitgirl. She flashed another smile at her superior, surprised when he didn't notice the change in her attitude. Perhaps he was used to this, perhaps not. Either way, he only grinned back, his mood seemingly stuck on the one stage it had hit now.

"Well, there are other games we could play…" he suggested, holding her gaze in his own intense one. She stared at him and wished the thoughts away, only hoping that this wouldn't lead to where she thought it would.

If it did, there was no turning back.

* * *

"DiNozzo! My office, now!"

Tony whirled around so fast that he almost fell over, finding himself staring eye-to-eye with the Director. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts before he shot off a quick "Yes, sir," and scurried up the stairs. He passed the secretary without second thought, and soon found himself admiring the comfortable-looking chairs in Vance's office.

"Take a seat," Director Vance instructed, pulling a chair for himself. He motioned with his hand, more insistently this time, when Tony refused to comply, but simply gave up on the third attempt to coax the agent into sitting. With a glare, he simply continued as if the other man was sitting where he should be.

"You have been in contact with David more than once since she went on this mission," he pointed out, his words careful and even, as he knew he was walking in dangerous territory. "Do you realize, DiNozzo, that you could be jeopardizing her role in the mission?"

"Director, I was worried about her, she had been missing-"

"Before that, even. Don't think I don't hear your conversations and know the details. You seem to have forgotten about the cameras and the screaming match you two had. DiNozzo, this is going to have to be your last chance."

"Wait, what?"

"Ziva will do fine on her own. You are not to contact her unless instructed, or you _will _be removed from this case. Understood?"

**A/N: Okay, not my longest chapter, but I hope you enjoy anyway. By the way, if you'd like to have some input on what might just happen during the story, there's now a poll on my profile.**


	17. Baited Breath

**A/N: Been a while since I updated. Oops. Well, I've never been the greatest when it comes to regular updates. Hey, does anyone ever actually read my author nothes? Hmm... Anyway, this chapter is pretty good, enjoy.**

**I don't own NCIS.**

She knew what was going to happen next, but that didn't stop her from wanting to resist. This man was a killer, a ruthless killer, the head of the Black Jade Company. He was her enemy. And yet, she had willingly led up to this… the consequence was obvious. She couldn't deny that Quicksilver was attractive, but that didn't mean she actually, truly wanted this. '_Anything for the job and my country,'_ she reminded herself as she forced herself to keep their gaze locked.

So she waited with baited breath, and a heart that threatened to beat out of her chest. The anticipation was driving her crazy. She guessed that he knew this, because this was drawing out far longer than it should have been. Perhaps he really wouldn't… no. She dismissed the thought. There had been risks explained to her at the very start. This was one of them.

Quicksilver's smile had faded into a small one, no longer the charming smile that was identical to Tony's. He moved his hands to her waist and leaned towards her. While her heart beat so fast, there was no spectacular feeling for him. She was another woman, and he didn't particularly care that much. For a moment, Ziva worried that he might sense her fear, uneasiness and anticipation, but he didn't seem to. Instead, he kissed her.

Time seemed to stop at that moment. She allowed herself to melt into the kiss, ignoring the nagging guilt at the back of her mind. At first, it was slow, gentle, something she hadn't expected from a man with such a reputation. But, just as she'd anticipated, it soon deepened. His hands moved dangerously close to the bottom of her shirt, and the world began to move again as she realized just exactly how far this man was willing to go.

As gently as she could, she pulled away from him. Disappointment was written across his face in a mere instant, but he didn't speak. They were both breathing hard, neither quite able to say anything yet. It was several moments before Ziva got her breath back and was able to speak without stopping. She took these moments to bring herself back together, ignoring the guilt and the uneasiness brought by the situation.

"Well…" she considered hitting herself for this. After that, all she was able to think of saying was 'well'? She'd just kissed what was her enemy by law and principle. Of course, he knew nothing of who she really was, but it still bugged her. What if this went too far? What would she be forced to do then? '_At least Vance will be happy. I have an opportunity to get closer to Quicksilver...'_

"Well?" Quicksilver grinned back at her, but his smile only seemed to increase the uneasiness. "Well… Black Venom, wow."

By the look on his face, she could have easily guessed what was on his mind, but decided not to. She'd come here for training, and ended up with this. Maybe she'd planned it this way, but she hadn't actually expected anything to happen. But who was she kidding? She knew this man was a worse player than even Tony, and an uncaring one at that. It wouldn't surprise her if he turned around and kissed one of the guards in the car (if, of course, one was female).

When she didn't speak, he frowned, moving one hand to tilt her chin upwards. She was looking him straight in the eye again. "What's wrong, Blackie…? Didn't you _want_ that? Don't you want _me_?"

_'Lie!'_ her mind screamed at her. '_Lie before this gets any farther!'_ Forcing a smile on her face, she said, "Of course I want this. You're amazing. But don't worry, nothing's wrong."

She threw in another wink and he seemed to instantly forget that she'd hesitated to speak at first. At least his emotions were easy to manipulate… occasionally. Perhaps if he were a bit less unstable, keeping her cover would be easier, but he didn't seem to want to decide on a personality any time soon. It was odd - he could switch his personality and mood like she'd never seen anyone do before, and yet he missed it when she made the simple transformation from 'obedient subordinate' to this.

"But then… why did you pull away from me?"

Maybe he did notice then. Ziva cringed inwardly, attempting to think fast. How could she make up a lie that would fit with her cover? Perhaps her boyfriend had just died… or she was afraid of what was going to happen next. Or…

"Why don't we wait for later?" she asked, running a hand down his chest. She was disgusted with herself, but at least she was beginning to get into character. Quicksilver winked at her and caught her hand in his, holding it on his chest. He seemed satisfied with the answer, and only stared at her for a few seconds before kissing her again. He pulled away quickly this time, and she was grateful.

"In that case, I believe we have some training to do." Just like that, he released her hand, and his mood seemed to swing entirely. He switched back into 'superior' mode, and she nodded, attempting to make this change as well. It was easier than she'd thought, to adjust herself and be sure she was back at the subordinate level. Still, she'd liked the few minutes they'd spent as equals, before he decided to continue with their training.

_'You made the choice to stop him,'_ something in the back of her mind whispered. '_You could have let him go farther…'_ Annoyed by herself, she attempted to fight back, creating a war in her own mind. '_I'll do only what I have to and nothing more…'_

"What are we doing today, sir?" Obedience. It was so easy. During situations like this, she would be thankful for her Mossad training, though other times she wished there was no preprogrammed soldier lingering in the back of her mind. Quicksilver's eyes traveled up her body, but stopped at her face. For a moment, he looked perplexed - had he noticed the moments of uneasiness? - but the look morphed almost instantaneously.

"You'll find out. Come with me, Black Venom."

* * *

His knuckles ached, screaming at him to stop, but he refused. Each punch landed exactly on target, and he was excited every time that the object moved against his fist. He was absolutely furious.

How could Vance do this to him? Ziva had come to mean so much to him. The Director had no right to do any of this! Vance didn't know Ziva the way he did. He didn't know the lengths that she'd go to for the mission. He didn't know how much she'd been through already. He didn't know how close she'd come to the edge, in the past, before the stupid mission, before everything started to go wrong.

Tony hit the object again, trying to force the anger out of him, but he knew it was a hopeless mission. Still, he refused to stop, until a cold hand wrapped itself around his shoulder. The man spun around so fast that he almost knocked over the other person, but he hardly seemed to care. He narrowed his eyes in anger. "What?"

"Uh, Tony?" The voice seemed to bring him back to reality, because he felt some of the anger melt away as he allowed himself to truly realize who he was talking to. He shook his head quickly, attempting to ignore the concern on McGee's face. "Uh, why were you punching without gloves?"

He looked down at his knuckles and was shocked by the sight. Only now did he notice just how much damage he had down. They were torn and smeared with blood, silhouetted by the familiar colouring of a newly developing bruise. "Oh, wow," he whispered, staring at his hands as if they were something completely new to him. "I guess I forgot."

"Maybe we should get you to Ducky," McGee said, staring at Tony in awe. What had happened to drive their senior field agent to this? He grabbed his cellphone and had already dialled before Tony even responded.

"No, I'll be okay," he started, but at a look from his coworker, he changed his mind. "Fine, call Ducky, but I'm _not_ going to the hospital for this. No way. I don't need this on my medical record. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo: busted hand punching things. Yeah, that sounds real great…"

He was very aware of his rambling, but he still didn't stop talking. Tony was more talking to himself than McGee, for the junior agent was still talking to Ducky. After a while, he simply let his voice trail off, and continued to examine his hands. As the adrenaline ebbed away, pain replaced it. "I guess I won't be doing _that_ again," he muttered. "Never."

"Tony, come on, we're going to Ducky." He was taken aback by the words. They left no room for debate or argument. His younger coworker was actually giving him an _order?_ Shocked by this, he allowed himself to be led out of the NCIS gym, though he didn't bother to change out of his sweat-soaked clothing. Several agents stared as they passed, but he ignored them.

It didn't take too long to get to Autopsy, and he was glad for that. His hand was beginning to swell and the ache was increasing. With it came the fear that he really had broken part of his hand. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled his arm away from McGee and raced ahead of him into the room, where he was greeted by a very stern-looking Ducky.

"Anthony, what have you done to your hand? You know better than to be punching without a glove. Look at that bruising. We'll have to get this X-rayed. No, we don't have to go to the hospital unless you broke something. Then it's no arguments. Do you understand?"

"Okay," Tony held his hand out for the Doctor to see, but only regretted it as Ducky gently touched his knuckles. Gentle or not, the touch sent a searing pain up his arm and he had to fight to keep himself from pulling away. He gritted his teeth together again, squeezing his eyes shut as if it would help.

"Ah, this reminds me of a pretty young girl I met at one time. She was very athletic, you know, but she never turned down a dare. Her best friend dared her to hit a pipe as hard as she could, and wouldn't you guess, she actually did it. Unfortunately, her knuckles broke on impact, but it turned out alright in the end."

"Interesting," he replied through gritted teeth. "Duck, you done yet?"

"Just the X-rays to see if you've broken anything. You're not going to want to use this hand for the next few days at least, Anthony. It's bruising and swelling quite fast, there's no doubt that it will hurt. Now, come over here for long enough to get an X-ray."

_'Great,'_ Tony thought angrily. '_The Director basically puts me on probation, and now I might have broken my hand. This is just perfect…'_


	18. Blade

**A/N: Well. It's been a while. My apologies to you guys, I've gotten kind of hooked on Sherlock and have written about 12 fics for that since last updating this. Umm, woops? Hehe. But I have gotten you guys a new chapter, so be happy! ;D Although I had to go back and read some of my own writing to remember where I left off... I guess that tells how long it's been since I've updated, all on its own.**

**I don't own NCIS, but please enjoy this chapter.**

Ziva nodded her assent and followed him, a few paces behind. She forced herself to keep her head up and arms swinging despite the pounding in her head. All of this was stressful, from the training itself to fake affections and even just maintaining her cover. The only question that now remained was how long she could last under these conditions. Yes, she'd spent years in Mossad training like this, and in undercover operations, but this was somehow different. A small voice at the back of her mind screamed that she had a family now, not by blood but surely by bond, and she had no desire to hurt them. The stakes were higher here, were they not?

After all, Eli had hardly cared if she lived or died. This thought in mind, she focussed more and more on stepping carefully and being the obedient subordinate she was supposed to be. This part was frustrating; she'd spent most of her life as the one in power, not the opposite.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly crashed into Quicksilver when he abruptly stopped. Her eyes widened in shock and she stepped back, hoping he hadn't noticed the near-collision. Thankfully, when the man turned around, there was no malice in his eyes, no sign that he'd even noticed her before that moment. His eyes lingered on her face and both stood still for a heartbeat before he moved his hand to his belt, pulling a knife from it. Ziva stared at it, internally debating whether or not he was going to kill her or train her with it.

"I had planned to practice with firearms but knives looked a tiny bit more… _fun_. Have you had any training in close combat?" Quicksilver asked her. She nearly breathed a sigh of relief but held it. He'd chosen the latter option. Good, she hadn't particularly wanted to get engaged in a knife fight to the death.

"A bit, sir," she replied, nodding slowly. It would be hard to be a marine and have no training at all, and saying 'no' would completely blow her cover. She needed some reason for her superior combat skills, didn't she? This would have to suffice. "Part of my basic training in the Marines consisted of close combat."

A muscle on his face twitched and something flashed in those eyes, if only for a moment, before a small smile broke on his face. She wasn't fooled by it. The smile spelled 'fake,' and the flash in his eyes had spoken the opposite of his expression. Still, she held her tongue as he began to speak, a new edge to his tone. "Very well. Then I suppose you won't have any trouble demonstrating your skills against me, will you?"

'_Make an excuse… anything,'_ her mind screamed at her. She was frozen, staring at the knife and the man, trying desperately to find something to say. It would be obvious that she hadn't just been trained in the Marines. She'd expected to perhaps practice on a body guard, a not-so experienced one that could be easily bested without looking overly powerful. Quicksilver was changeable, yes, but she didn't expect him to offer himself as her opponent. He was more than likely closed to as skilled with a blade as she was. Only years of training (Mossad, in her case; crime, in his) would teach one the best aspects of fighting in this way.

"Sir, with all due respect," she started, moving her gaze to his face as to watch his emotions. If he grew unbalanced, monitoring his expressions might be her only hint towards danger. "I am not sure I am ready to demonstrate my skills against you." A flash in his eyes and she forced herself to hold her ground, forced herself to continue. "You are obviously quite experienced while I-I've only had basic training in the Marines."

His face seemed to soften a bit and her heart stopped pounding so quickly. This was a good sign. Ziva allowed herself to release a breath she'd forgotten she was holding. Quicksilver regarded her carefully for a few moments, a strange look in his eye once again. She stood as still as she possibly could despite the thousands of things running through her mind. Was there the possibility that her cover had been blown and he knew? No, that had to be impossible… Would he make her fight him anyway?

"I suppose," he spoke slowly, deliberately. Inwardly she squirmed in unease. "I suppose you are correct. It wouldn't be good to have you die due to lack of experience. Wait for a moment, I will be back with another man for you to train with."

With that, he handed her the knife he'd been playing with and turned on his heel, leaving her alone. She stood still until his retreating shape melted into the darkness of the parking lot, and only then did she allow herself to move. Ziva took a few steps back, breathing quickly, her eyes closed. She twirled the knife expertly between her fingers, ignoring the pain when she misjudged and nicked her ring finger. This would be her only few seconds to get her thoughts back together before Quicksilver came back. She needed a plan.

"Think," she muttered. Dumbing down her skills wouldn't be that hard, would it? And now that she'd cut her hand it would be easier to fake ignorance. Her fingers were quickly becoming slippery with blood and the knife fell from her hand, clattering to the pavement. The noise jolted her eyes open and she stared around, desperately hoping that Quicksilver had seen that. He'd be more convinced that she lacked skill. It would all add up to the image she wanted.

Why was she worrying so much over this? Ziva passed a hand over her face before bending down to retrieve the knife. The sharp blade glinted silver, only partially stained with blood. Her blood. Grimacing, she turned her attention to her hand. The cut wasn't quite as deep as she'd thought but it didn't seem to want to stop bleeding any time soon. As she hadn't thought to bring bandages, it would just have to remain the way it was.

Absently, she began flicking the knife between her fingers again, this time concentrating on the blade. It calmed her mind and brought her back to the reality, stopped the thoughts that had run rampant seconds ago. She could do this. It was simple. Child's play, in fact. The silver blurred together as she began to flick it faster and faster, watching it dance, allowing it to calm her mind.

Ziva was so focussed in it that she didn't notice Quicksilver reappearing for a good ten seconds. In fact, she didn't raise her gaze until a hand shot forward, grasping her wrist. Shock forced her to drop the knife and she raised her gaze to his face. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he growled, but there was an edge to his voice as sharp as the knife she'd just dropped. She wondered briefly if he was impressed at all by her skills, or worried by it. It didn't take a professional to twirl a knife between their fingers, and surely the cut would tell him she was just an amateur trying her hand at things she shouldn't. None of these things presented themselves obviously and so she was forced to speculate.

"Black Venom, this is Blade," Quicksilver introduced quickly. She smiled inwardly. Quite an appropriate name. "Blade, Black Venom. She requires training in close combat. Draw your knives and spar, but you are not fighting to kill. I repeat, this is a training exercise."

Something in his tone of voice told her that Blade had perhaps screwed up before and severely wounded - or killed - a trainee in a close combat training spar. She flashed the man a smile, taking in his form. He was taller than her, broader. Scars ran along his arms, reminders of wounds from past training sessions and crimes alike. Likely slower than her, but more inclined to use brute force.

With this information in the back of her mind, she took her stance, staring him down. He mirrored her, pulling a larger blade from his belt. It was well-worn, she noted, but sharpened expertly. She would have no chance to attack his hand, not considering the size of the blade in comparison to her measly knife. He was heavy-set, his attacks would be slower, and she could easily dodge them. But could she get close enough to strike a hit?

"What are you waiting for?" Blade asked, sneering. She growled in response and waited anyway. His sneer faltered but he shot forward anyway, blade swinging straight for her face. Ziva growled again and dropped to a crouch, listening for the whistle of metal through air. Good, it had missed her.

Grinning, she swung her legs out and smashed into his. Blade's eyes widened in shock and he began to fall. Quick as a fox, she struck out with her knife, completely forgetting the plan to fake ignorance.

"What was I waiting for?" she asked him, an arrogant grin on her face. "I was waiting for you to do _that_."

* * *

"You're lucky," Ducky's voice echoed around the room. Tony looked up from his strangely transfixing, multicoloured hands, his eyes finding the old man quickly. Ducky, however, wasn't smiling. His face matched his voice in seriousness. "Quite lucky, indeed. You should be glad Jethro isn't here, Tony."

"If he was here, this wouldn't've happened," Tony argued back. "Gibbs would be in charge of the case and I'd still be able to contact Ziva. Gibbs would be in charge and this wouldn't be such a damn mess."

Sympathy flickered in Ducky's eyes, the same emotion mirrored in McGee's. It was the younger agent that spoke, however, his words strangely sincere, "Tony, don't beat yourself up about it. We all screw up. I did. Remember the man I shot a few years ago? The undercover police officer?"

"This is different," he snapped back. "That was just a cop. He didn't matter to you or to any of us. None of us cared, McGee, if he was alive or dead. Other than you, but you're the one who killed him."

"Then what's the difference?"

"It's Ziva," Ducky's voice broke into their conversation. He shook his head slowly, taking Tony's left hand in his as he examined it once again. "Anthony, you know better than to let your emotions rule your judgement. You're doing fine with this-"

"Then why did Vance take me off the case? If I was doing 'fine,' then I'd be able to talk to Ziva!"

"Maybe that's it. That's the problem, Anthony, you want to talk to her. You want to protect her. She can't have that right now. She can't have contact from you, or any of us, not right now. It'll only raise suspicion, and we don't want that. Contacting her is putting her in more danger than not."

"Look, just tell me if my damn hands are broken or not," Tony wrenched his hand from Ducky's grip. He was aware of how rash he was acting, but how could he help it? Rage fired through his veins - anger at himself, at the world, at Vance and even at Gibbs for not being there. He didn't want to be talking to anyone, and he surely didn't want others making his failures sound like successes.

"Anthony-"

"Just tell me!"

"Anthony… well… you're very lucky. Your left hand is only badly bruised."

"And my right?"

"Broken. You primarily put more force behind that hand, it's no surprise…"

His words were met with silence. Tony stared, fire in his eyes, for a few moments before he turned and left, the anger only growing with each step he took. McGee bit his lip and turned to Ducky, a sad smile on his face.

"Shit."


End file.
